


All this Delusion in our Heads

by mmaree



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Amnesia, Anal Sex, Angst, Artist Zayn, Clueless Harry, Clueless Louis, Confused Zayn, Explicit Sexual Content, Flashbacks, Frottage, Hand Jobs, Insecure Liam, Jealous Liam, M/M, Memory Loss, Misunderstandings, Musician Niall, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Pain, Secrets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-28
Updated: 2016-08-28
Packaged: 2018-08-10 22:41:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7864051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mmaree/pseuds/mmaree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Liam hobbled to his bedroom, the bedroom that still felt like<strong> theirs. </strong> It was awful, this feeling that he couldn’t escape Zayn, couldn’t escape the life they had together.  </i>
</p><p>  <i>Because no matter how much he, Louis, and Harry had tried to exorcise the ghost from these four walls, too much remained behind.  Maybe Zayn and the others couldn’t see it, but it was there all the same.  It was there:  hidden in drawers, wrapped in curtains, reflected in mirrors, exposed in chipped paint, and tucked away in books.  It was everywhere.  Zayn was everywhere.</i></p><p>  <i>And it was killing him.</i></p><p>*****</p><p>Or the one where Zayn contracts amnesia, Liam has regrets, and the entire universe conspires against them…until it doesn’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Zayn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shoulderbladesarewings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shoulderbladesarewings/gifts).



> I hope this is close to what you were looking for, babe. xx
> 
> Massive thanks to Sammie who came in at the eleventh hour and agreed to beta a 30k fic after my first beta had to drop out.  
> Title is taken from "Let it Go" by James Bay.  
> I don't own anything and all mistakes are my own. Enjoy ;)

 

He didn’t see it coming.  That’s what they all say, of course, when one moving object hits another in a clash of steel and glass.  

He never liked this car, never fancied how compact it was nor the way the interior smelled like stale cigarette smoke (not his brand).  It didn’t matter how many piña colada air fresheners Harry tried to combat the odour with, it was always there.  The car was a piece of junk, but it was all he could afford at the time, and it was _his_.  Besides, living in North London, it wasn’t like he drove it constantly.  That was probably why Zayn didn’t bother taking the car in when a warning light appeared on his dash last month.  

It was an airbag malfunction indicator light, and he had gotten into an argument with Liam over the bloody thing.  They had gotten into a lot of arguments lately.  Liam was being too sensible as usual, and Zayn was being too stubborn--also as usual.  Liam didn’t get it though.  He didn’t understand that there was no point in throwing good money after bad.  There was zero sense in fixing up this beater when Zayn was just going to buy a new vehicle in the next month or so--a sick ride with racing stripes, a premium radio, and a new car smell.  He had worked hard, saved every extra penny he’d earned, and he wasn’t going to blow his savings on a fucking airbag.

And now here he was on the side of the motorway.  At least he’d been wearing a seatbelt.  Even so, he could almost hear Liam gloating, “I told you so.”  Really, Zayn couldn’t blame him if he did.  

In fact, there were a lot of things Zayn couldn’t blame Liam for.  Zayn couldn’t point the finger at Liam when he accepted his aunt’s invitation for dinner earlier and left Bradford so late.  He couldn’t blame Liam for the fact he was driving too fast on slick, dimly-lit roads tonight.  It wasn’t really Liam’s fault Zayn was so distracted either, consumed with all the unsaid words between them since they’d last seen each other a week ago.  Above all, he couldn’t blame Liam for the lorry that drifted too far into his lane.

There _was_ one thing Zayn could blame Liam for, but he’d thought about _that_ enough this past week.  It was almost all he thought about.

Zayn pulled his mind from the past; the immediate present demanded his full attention.  He became aware of sounds around him:  his ragged breathing, the odd passing car, the patter of rain on the roof, and the noises of the early morning.  He tried to open the door, but it was jammed.  There was something off with the electrical as well because the electric windows and locks weren’t working.  

He glanced to his left and saw a way out:  the passenger window was shattered.  Instinctively, he knew he had to get out of this deathtrap.  With every passing moment, he felt more and more claustrophobic, more and more like he couldn’t breathe.  His chest hurt.  His lungs hurt.  Everything fucking hurt.  

Cursing, he fiddled with the seatbelt and finally it released.  He swivelled his body and climbed onto the passenger side.  He realised his injuries weren’t as bad as he first thought--or at least the shock and adrenaline kerbed the pain for now--because he could move all of his limbs.  He tried the door for a lark but of course it was useless.  The whole fucking car was useless.

He hoisted himself up and was rewarded with a gash from a sharp remnant of glass that remained from the broken window.  He hardly felt it.  

The cool breeze hit him as he peered into the blackness and saw a grassy embankment just below him.  He could jump--or drop--safely.  He patted his trouser pocket and determined his phone was still there.  He’d need that.  He was about to make his exit when he realised he’d forgotten something.

 _The letter_.   

With a groan, he retreated back into the car and felt around with his uninjured hand.  It wasn’t where he left it in the loose change compartment.  It wasn’t on the now vacant driver’s seat.  It wasn’t anywhere.

Then he spotted it on the floorboard:  the crisp, white envelope illuminated by the faint glow of moonlight.  Holding on to his side which now had a dull ache, he reached down and swam his fingers around until they clasped the coveted article.  Now he could go.

Zayn was halfway out the window, letter in hand, when he heard the unmistakable sound of screeching brakes.  

He didn’t see _that_ coming either.  

 

*****

 

“Zayn?  Sunshine?  Time to wake up, baby.”  

It was his mum, but her words weren’t really what made him pry open his eyes.  It was more her tone than anything:  brittle, quavering.  She sounded the same way when she called him to break the news about Grandpa Walter’s passing.  Instinctively, he knew that this time it was because of him.  He tried again to open his eyes.   

He couldn’t see her, couldn’t even make out her form.  The lights were so bright, they burned into the back of his eyeballs even after he snapped them shut.  But it was enough.  He heard a soft _mashallah_ fall from her lips, and he knew it was enough.

Then there were more voices, dozens of voices.  A stentorian one took charge as Zayn felt himself being prodded, jabbed, talked at.

“Eye opening?”

“Three, no spontaneous movements noted,” someone answered.

“Motor response?”

“Five, showed a minute response to painful localised stimuli.”  

“Verbal response?”

“It was a two last time, but I think we can do much better than that now.  Should we remove the breathing tube, doctor?”

“No, let’s see if he is able to breathe on his own first.  Collins, adjust the dosing catheter.”

There were more beeps, more shuffling, and then he was gasping for air.  He felt his lungs kick start.

“Alright, let’s take it out.”

Zayn felt a gagging sensation which caused his eyes to strain again.  At least someone had removed the light from his face.  Everything still appeared blurry though.  It reminded him of when he was a kid and his family would go on holiday to Blackpool.  He’d stare out the car window at streetlamps and squint and un-focus his eyes until the lights became colourful bursts of flame dotting the night sky.  He felt almost like a God then, powerful enough to pull the stars down from the heavens.

He didn’t feel quite as powerful now.

“Zayn, can you hear me?”  It was the same woman who had been doling out orders before.  “Zayn, please answer ‘yes’ or ‘no,’ if you can.”  Suddenly, it was completely still as if the entire room had taken a collective breath.  

“Yes,” he croaked out.  His throat was dry.  He wanted to cough but it seemed like too much effort.  

“You’ve had an accident, Zayn.  My name is Doctor Bennett, and I’m here to help you.  Your mum’s here as well.  You’re going to be alright.”  

He didn’t believe her.  It was the type of thing one said to someone who was anything _but_ alright.  “I’m in hospital?”

“Yes.  I’m going to ask you some questions now.  I want you to do your best to answer them.  It is very important you try your best.  Do you understand?”

He felt dizzy.  “Yeah, okay.”

“Please tell me your full name.”

“Zayn Javadd Malik.”  He could hear his mum weeping in the background and it unnerved him.

“Good, now tell me why you are here.”

“I was…I was in an accident,” he parroted back, trying to ignore the clawing ache of his throat.

“Yes, do you remember what kind of accident?”

He wracked his brains.  He couldn’t recall anything.  He only said he was in an accident because she had bloody told him that already.  “No, I don’t remember.  I can’t remember anything about an accident.  Was it bad?  Am I okay?  Why does my head hurt so much?”

“Yes, you’re going to be fine,” she smiled.  “We are going to take good care of you.  Please get some rest.  We’ll talk some more later, Zayn.  Now, I need you to get some sleep.”

“Can my mum stay?”  His voice sounded so small.

“Yes, but you need to get some rest, okay?”

“Yeah.”  He’d promise to do anything if they let his mum stay.   _Anything._

His mum sat next to him again, and it was as if he could breathe a little easier.  “It’s going to be alright, Zayn,” she cooed.  “It’s going to be okay now.”

And this time, with his mum speaking those words, he almost believed them.

 

*****

 

“Good morning, Zayn,” the doctor chirped.  A nurse had just finished poking him again.  He had pretended to be dozing but now he forced himself to be as alert as he could.  “How are you feeling this morning?”

_…like me head’s split open…like every bone in my body’s broken…like someone’s sat on my chest…like my gown’s wedged up my ass…._

“Good,” Zayn answered, “’m good.  You, Dr. Bennet?”

The corners of her mouth turned up, and he felt like he’d just made a gaff.  “I see you remember my name.  Well done.  Oh, and I’m very well, thank you,” she answered smoothly.  “Anything to report?  Numbness? Nausea? Double vision?”

“Yeah, maybe that last one a bit,” Zayn confided.  He hated talking about these things…even with a doctor.  He hated to sound like he was complaining, but his mum seemed to be urging him to speak up from across the room.  “It’s not all the time, like, but um, yeah….”

She wrote down a few notes on her clipboard.  “That’s perfectly normal after a head injury such as yours.  I’ll send in someone to talk to you about your specific symptoms when we’re finished.  “Now, I’m going to ask you some questions again.  Let’s start with your full name.”

“Zayn Javadd Malik.”  

“Your birthdate?”

“12 January.”

“The year as well, please.”

“1993.”  He wished his exams were this easy.

“What city do you live in?”

“London.”

“Who is the current prime minister?”

“David Cameron, but I didn’t vote for the toff.”  There was a tittering of laughter at that.  He almost felt like himself.

“What is today’s date?”

That stumped him.  He had no clue how long he’d been here, whether it was hours or days even.  He hesitated.  “I’m not sure.”

“Just take a guess,” Doctor Bennett encouraged.

“May?  Maybe like towards the end?”

“You’re very close, Zayn.  You were in a coma for eight days.  It’s the first of June now so you’re not that far off.”  She winked at him.  “Mrs. Malik, feel free to bring in the rest of the family while we finish up.  I know his sisters have been waiting some time to see him.”  She placed her clipboard down and approached his bedside.  “Could you tell me the year, and then I think we’re done for now.”

“Sure--that’s easy,” Zayn returned, feeling confident again.  “It’s 2013.”

The doctor’s lips formed a thin line.  “Zayn, I want you to be absolutely positive.  Think hard.  What year is this?”

“I know it’s 2013.  Why are you looking at me like that?”

“How old are you, Zayn?  This is very important.  I need you to concentrate.”

He didn’t know why he needed to concentrate on something like that.  He knew how fucking old he was.  He was 20.  He figured it in his head, just to make sure though, because the doctor was making him feel uneasy for some reason.  2013 minus 1993.  He was born in January and this was June.  Yeah, he was definitely 20.  “I’m 20.  Why is everyone looking at me funny?  Ask me some more questions.  I’m 20, and I’m a uni student.  Mum, what’s the matter?”

His mum had gone pale, and he looked to his sisters for support--except they weren’t his sisters.  Yeah, his vision was wonky right now, but he still knew those girls weren’t his sisters.  He knew the one who resembled Waliyha wasn’t really Waliyha even if her smile looked familiar.  And that other girl, the one with Safaa’s blue eyes, couldn’t be his baby sister.

Suddenly he couldn’t breathe.  It was like he’d woken up in a nightmare, the twilight zone.  He began shaking uncontrollably.  Chaos filled the cramped air of the hospital room.  

Eight days?  They had said he was in a coma for eight days but it looked more like eight _years_.

He couldn't breathe.  Fuck, he didn't even _want_ to breathe.  He felt a coolness run through his veins as the chaos grew louder.

And then everything stopped.


	2. Liam

 

Liam’s life began and ended when he received the call that his boyfriend was in the A&E.  He was Zayn’s emergency contact so of course he was the first one they called.  He could barely process anything the woman on the other end said besides “Zayn Malik,” “car accident,” and “critical condition.”  Shit, he even had to call the number back to figure out which bloody hospital it was.

Normally, he was so good in these situations:  he always knew the right thing to do, the right thing to say.  He was the level-headed one, the ‘sensible’ one as his mates teased him.  He couldn’t help it; he was a born leader.  He had even been captain of his football club even though he was far from the top player.  People said he brought a quiet leadership in his role of skipper, a Steven Gerrard-type leadership, that his teammates responded to well.  

His dad always said he would’ve been a proper success if he would’ve stayed at the factory, the same factory his father had worked at for 26 years.  Whenever they talked, his dad complained how he could’ve been a foreman or the like by now.  It was a man’s job, he’d say.  An honest job.  A dependable job.  Liam had heard the refrain too many bloody times to remember.  He didn’t want that though.  He didn’t know exactly what he wanted (and to be straight, school wasn’t his thing either), but he _did_ know he wanted something different.  So Liam moved down to London when he was 18 to find himself.  He found a struggle instead.

Honestly, he had considered going back to Wolverhampton many times, but even the mere thought of going back home with his tail between his legs made Liam strive harder.  There was only one time when he had made actual concrete plans to leave though.  He’d purchased a train ticket and everything, one way from London Euston to Wolverhampton Station.

And then he met Zayn.

Zayn saw things in him that few others did.  Instead of seeing him as a jock, Zayn praised his intelligence.  He would go on about how creative Liam was, how caring.  It sounded trite, but Zayn made Liam want to be a better person.  And with Zayn, he was.

…Most of the time anyway.

Liam realised he was still shaking and staring at his mobile.  He needed to leave.  He needed to be where Zayn was.  He needed to call Trisha.  He needed to remember where the bloody hell the nearest tube station was.

 _Liam Payne, born leader…_ how ironic.  He could barely lead himself to the door at the moment.

He had to call someone.  He knew Harry wasn’t exactly pleased with him right now, but he also knew that Harry had been Zayn’s best mate since they met at school in Manchester.  And Harry had a car.

He dialled the number, half-doubting Harry would even answer if he saw the caller ID.  One ring…two…three….

“Hullo?” a tired Lancashire drawl greeted him.  Of course Harry would answer.  Of course Harry would help him.  Everything was going to be okay.

“Hullo, Harry?  I, uh, need to ask you a favour.”

“Is it important, Liam, because I’m not sure I--”

“Z-Zayn’s in hospital,” he stammered out.  It sounded even worse when he said it aloud--way bloody worse.  “He was in an accident.  Could you--”

“I’ll be there in five.”    

Liam kicked on some trainers, shoved his wallet in his trouser pocket, and went down to wait in the car park.  He fiddled with his keys as he waited.  He slid his finger in the ring and whirled them around, trying not to think of how he’d find Zayn, trying not to think of anything.  He heard a harsh jangling and realised the keys had spun off his finger.  He bent down to fetch them and saw the pewter keychain reflected in the moonlight.  Zayn had given it to him as a birthday present.  It was the Batman logo, but in the lamplight it reminded him of the Bat-Signal--a sign of distress.

Liam dropped to his knees.  He felt like he’d been kicked in the gut.  He thought about the last time he saw Zayn.  It was only a week ago, but it felt like forever.  

_What if…._

No, he wasn’t even going to think about that.

 

*****

 

The lady at the reception desk told them Zayn was in surgery and that his status hadn’t changed.  They wouldn’t divulge any more information than that.  He and Harry were directed to the family waiting room where Harry finally called Trisha.  As it turned out, she was on her way, someone having already rung her.  After that, they waited.  They didn’t speak, not a single word, but Liam was glad Harry was there.  

A few hours later, Trisha arrived, all red- and puffy-eyed.  She hugged Harry first and Liam stood back hesitantly.  She then went over and hugged Liam.  Her embrace felt just as warm and accepting as he remembered, like his own mum’s.  He broke down…again.  He couldn’t find a reason to keep it inside anymore.

After that, there was more waiting.

Liam had stopped checking his watch when the doctor finally returned with some news on Zayn’s condition:  skull fracture, broken collarbone, multiple lacerations and contusions.  

“C-can I see him?” Trisha asked meekly.  It was hard not to notice how badly she was shaking.  “Is he awake?”  She looked so small in the room with high ceilings and the stench of grief.

The doctor touched her arm softly.  “He’s not conscious right now.  The head injury was pretty severe, and we’ll want to keep him in a coma for the time being.  We’ll know more in a couple of days.”

“Know more?” Harry asked suspiciously, rising from his chair.

The doctor looked uneasy.  “We never know the true extent of a traumatic brain injury until after the swelling has gone down.  We are very hopeful, of course, and will do everything we can but….”  

“But?” Liam prompted, swallowing hard.

“But there are no guarantees,” the doctor continued candidly.  “I wish I had more to offer you, but I’m sorry, I don’t.  Please know we will do everything we possibly can for your son, Mrs. Malik.”

The anguished wail Trisha let out then would have broken Liam’s heart if it hadn’t already been split in two.

 

*****

 

The next several days were a blur.

All Liam remembered were the endless hours at Zayn’s bedside, sharing a chair across from a stoic Harry and an inconsolable Trisha.  It became almost tolerable when Yaser arrived with Waliyha and Safaa, Zayn’s two youngest sisters.  Yaser returned to Bradford after the weekend, but he left the girls behind with their mother.  Liam was glad.  They lightened the atmosphere and Safaa’s constant chatter kept him distracted from cold reality.  

Eight days after the accident, Harry called him with the news:  Zayn was awake.  

Harry told him not to bother coming up.  The doctors weren’t allowing friends to see Zayn just yet.  Besides, he’d only been awake briefly.  Liam had a hard time digesting the word ‘friends’ but let it pass.  He was going to see Zayn.  That was the important thing.  

He could barely focus on his work the next morning.  He had thought about skiving off again, but it was the first of June, and he barely had enough to cover the full rent as it was (and he wasn’t about to dip into Zayn’s savings). 

Finally, he finished the paperwork he was meant to have completed a week ago and dashed to the tube.  He missed the first train by a fraction of a second.  He caught the next one only to find that there was a backup on the Northern Line.  Of course there was.  Liam drummed his fingers on the edge of his seat.  He could almost hear Zayn in his ear telling him not to be buggered about the delay, that he would get there when he was supposed to get there.  Zayn wasn’t concerned with the concept of time but Liam was.  Time mattered.

It was nearly four when the tube stopped at Archway.  Liam sprinted to the hospital, feeling hopeful for the first time since he could remember.  That was when he saw Trisha’s face.  She looked bloody miserable.  Harry was holding her hand, staring straight ahead.   

Liam wanted to ask about Zayn’s condition, but it was clear it wasn’t good.  He was afraid to get the confirmation, though, so he stalled a bit.  “You should get back to the shop,” Liam greeted the other boy.  “I’m sure afternoons are busy for you.”

“Niall’s got it,” Harry replied blankly.  

“Oh.”  Liam glanced around.  “Trisha, where are the girls?”

“Back in Bradford.  Yaser picked them up earlier today.  It’s been really hard on them,” she explained, holding back a sob.  Liam knew it was even more difficult for her, but he didn’t say anything.  

“Can…can I see him yet?”  

Harry cleared his throat, looking at him with worried eyes.  “I don’t think that’s the best idea, to be honest.”

“They said we could visit him today,” Liam whinged.  “I just…want a minute.  I haven’t seen him at all since he woke up.  I promise I won’t say anything to upset him if that’s what you’re bothered about.”  Liam looked to Harry for confirmation, but he couldn’t read the younger boy’s face.  Usually Harry was an open book.  Not today.

“It’s not a good idea, Liam,” Harry repeated, more forcefully this time.  “Here, why don’t you and I grab a cup of tea and--”

“I don’t want any bloody tea, Harry.  You think tea is the answer to everything.  I just want to see my boyfriend.”  

Harry raised his eyebrow at Liam’s choice of words.  It wasn’t hard to tell what he was thinking.  “Liam, we should talk first.”

But Liam didn’t want to talk first.  He knew what Harry was going to say.  “Listen, I just want to see him for a minute.  I don’t think that’s too much to ask.  I just need to know he’s okay, need to see for myself, like.”

Trisha started weeping quietly, and Harry slung an arm around her.

Liam’s heart stopped.  “Is he okay?  Did something happen?”

“He’s…he’s fine.”  Harry’s voice sounded even raspier than usual.  “The doctor said he’s, uh, recovering as expected.”

“Have you seen him yet?”

“Yes but--”

“I’m going in.  I need to see him, Harry.  I have a right to see him.  I’m going out of my bloody mind just waiting around.  We can talk as much as you want later but right now I have to see Zayn.”

“Liam!”  Harry’s shout fell on deaf ears.  

Liam’s heart was pounding when he entered the hospital room.  He hardly noticed the bandages now, barely saw the stitches.  The large bruise covering one whole side of Zayn’s face that had been purplish-green two days ago was now a pallid yellow.  He counted a few less tubes and machines although Zayn’s right arm was still wrapped and placed in that weird contraction with pulleys.

As Liam approached, the sleeping prince drowsily opened his eyes.  It had been over two weeks since Liam had seen those eyes.  He gazed deep into them, wanted to drown in the dark pools, longed to throw himself at his boyfriend’s feet.  

A sense of relief rushed through him.  Admittedly, he had been worried when he first saw Harry and Trisha’s faces, but that was all gone now.  Zayn was awake, and he wasn’t so broken that he couldn’t be fixed.  

“How are you feeling?”  Somehow he refrained from smothering Zayn with his wealth of emotions.  

“I’m good,” the patient answered stiffly.  His gaze flitted beyond Liam to the door.  

“Zayn, I didn’t mean to disturb you.  I just had to tell you how happy I am that you’re….”   _Alive._  He searched for a better word.  “Awake.”

Zayn’s face was unreadable.  Finally, he opened his lips, and the words that fell out of them made Liam shiver: “Sorry, do I know you?”

It was a joke.  It _had_ to be a joke.  Zayn was like that, always taking the piss.  Then he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder.  One glimpse into Harry’s sympathetic eyes told him everything he didn’t want to know.  

“Haz, do I know him?”  

“Yes, Z.  He’s a….”  Harry licked his lips and peeked over at Liam.  “He’s a friend.”

“Friend from where?” Zayn asked uncertainly.  Liam felt sick.  

“He’s your flatmate,” Harry answered more easily now.  “Don’t worry about it, yeah?  We’ll get it all sorted tomorrow.  You should mind what the doctor said and--”

“Can’t you just sit down for a minute?” Zayn begged, and Liam recognised his expression now.  It was pure fear.  

Harry nodded and pulled a chair closer to the bed.  “What’s up, Z.?”  

“Nothing,” he mumbled, glancing self-consciously at Liam.  Liam stood there frozen, unsure of whether he should stay or leave, when Harry motioned towards a chair a few feet off.  He stumbled towards it.  

Zayn labouredly shifted his upper torso in their direction.  “You’ll be here tomorrow, right?  I don’t know what I’d do if you weren’t here.  I’m so fucking scared, Haz.  I can’t even tell my mum how scared I am.”

“What are you afraid of?”  

“I don’t know…that I might not wake up.”  Zayn wiped his eyes with the back of his left hand.  Liam would have given anything to comfort him at the moment, but he already felt like an intruder just by being there.  “Or worse--that I might lose more, you know?  Like, what if I woke up and everything was gone?”  He sounded almost panicked now.

“It doesn’t work like that, Z.,” Harry reassured him, hands running over skin Liam wished he could touch.  “Anything else bothering you?”

“Yeah, small shit.  Like, I woke up a few minutes ago and noticed, _really_ noticed, my arm for the first time.  There’s all this ink I don’t remember getting, and…and I don’t know.  it’s just weird, that’s all.  I’ve got permanent markings on my skin I don’t even remember getting done.”

“We both have a few extra tattoos, Zayn,” Harry said with a glint in his eye.  “And to be honest, there are a couple I don’t remember having done either.”  

Zayn squinted at Harry.  “You look different than you did…older.  Your jawline’s quite good, you know.  I feel like the little brother now when I look at you.”

“You don’t look it,” Harry chuckled.

“Great, I must look a dog’s dinner right now.”

“Nah, not at all--and don’t listen to Louis if you talk to him.  I’m sure you look a little different than you remember, but it’s a good change.  Liam will back me up on that, won’t you?  He looks good, yeah?”

It took a second for Liam to realise Harry was talking to him before he spluttered out, “oh, um, yes.”    _He’s the most beautiful boy I’ve ever seen._

“I’ll take your word for it, lads,” Zayn grunted.  “I’m not too keen on looking in a mirror anytime soon.”

“You’re still you, though,” Harry said with an earnestness beyond his years.  “Remember that.”

“I like that:  I’m still me.  Cheers, Haz.  I might make it my new mantra.  Could even get it tattooed somewhere--not that there’s much space left from what I can see,” he cracked.  

“We better go now, Z.  Your mum will want to visit, I’m sure.”

“Okay, love you, Haz.”

“Love you, Z.”

Haz patted Zayn on the arm and Liam stood up awkwardly.  He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know what to do. He was gutted; he felt his heart was breaking.  Somehow, Zayn not knowing him was even worse than Zayn hating him.  

“Bye…?”  Zayn’s eyebrows knitted together.

“Liam,” he supplied.  He hoped he didn’t look as anguished as Harry did right now.

“Oh, that’s right.  It was nice to meet you, Liam.  Well, not meet you, I guess, but….”  Now it was Zayn’s turn to look embarrassed.  “You know what I mean.  And I’m sorry I don’t remember you.”

“No, it’s all good.  Bye, Zayn.”  

_I love you._

 

*****

 

Retrograde amnesia--that’s what the doctors called it anyway.  It meant Zayn didn’t remember the past three years of his life, the immediate years leading up to his accident.

Since Liam had met Zayn a little over two years ago, Zayn didn’t remember him at all.

It seemed unfair because Zayn remembered his family (even if it was a bit of a shock getting over how much his sisters had grown in three years).  He remembered Harry, Harry who had been his best mate since they were both at school in Manchester.   They had even worked in Harry’s aunt’s tea shop together to pay for expenses while they attended university in London.  Harry had taken a course in business while Zayn chose art.

Zayn remembered all that.

Zayn also remembered Niall, a fellow employee at the tea shop who busked on weekends and gigged anywhere and everywhere he could.  Zayn also recognised Louis when he came in to visit him.  Louis was also connected to the tea shop, probably its most loyal customer.  Supposedly, he’d gone in every morning for nearly four years now, ever since he’d been hired as a strength and conditioning coach, developing young footballers for Arsenal’s Academy.  Liam hadn’t known Louis then, although they were as thick as thieves now, but Zayn had told him the story.  Zayn had also suggested Louis’ dedicated patronage had more to do with the crush he had on Harry than anything else.  But then, anyone could have deduced that after spending five minutes with the pair--everyone except Harry and Louis, that is.

Over the next week, it was clear Zayn remembered a lot of things.  He remembered family birthdays, remembered how to make the perfect cup of tea, remembered an anecdote from a lecture he’d had five years ago, remembered every storyline of every crap film he’d ever seen….

He just didn’t remember Liam.

Of course, there were other things he didn’t remember.  He had forgotten he had graduated from uni.  He had forgotten Harry’s aunt had died, leaving her nephew the shop and the cosy flat above it.  There were people Zayn forgot as well, people he’d met in the past three years, people like Liam.  

Except they weren’t like Liam.  They weren’t as important to Zayn as Liam once was.

But the more Liam thought about it, the more he wondered if he had ever been that important to Zayn.  A nagging voice in his head kept insisting that Zayn would’ve remembered him if he loved him.  Maybe Zayn was supposed to forget him.  Maybe it was better that way.

As each day passed, he became more and more sure that his thinking was bang on.  Zayn was better off not knowing he and Liam were ever together.  

Harry supported the idea right away.  Trisha and Louis were a bit more hesitant at first but eventually came on board at the end.  Louis and Harry even assisted in transforming the flat he shared with Zayn.  Little by little, they erased any visible sign that the two had ever been a couple.  That was the hardest part--chucking away cherished memories, photographs, anything that might give away the past.  Liam wasn’t able to completely part with it all just yet, so Louis agreed to store everything at his place for the time being.  

Of course, it would have been easier if Zayn didn’t go back to the flat at all, but the doctors had advised it was best for Zayn to return to where he lived directly prior to the accident.  They suggested it might jog his memory and facilitate his recovery.  Trisha wanted to take her son home to Bradford, but she would never go against the recommendation of Zayn’s medical team.  Besides, the best treatment for her son was here in London.  

By the time Zayn was healed enough to leave the hospital, the flat was ready for him.

Harry and Louis were there the day Zayn was finally released.  Louis kept nattering on, trying to keep the patient’s mind off everything.  Meanwhile, Harry fretted about, making sure everything was in order.  Even after Zayn was settled on the sofa, he checked every thirty seconds to see if he was comfortable or needed anything.  Harry seemed torn when it came time to leave; Zayn, completely distraught.  Liam couldn’t blame him.  His best mates were leaving him in the hands of a stranger in a “home” he didn’t know.  Shit, Liam barely recognised his own flat with all the changes they’d made recently.

Now he sat opposite Zayn, fiddling with his watch and feeling completely out of sorts.  Liam had hardly said a word when Harry and Louis were there--didn’t need to really.  But now they were alone.  

“Is there, um, anything I can answer, Zayn?”  It sounded almost clinical.  He didn’t mean for it to come off like that.

Zayn seemed reluctant to respond at first.  “Well, maybe just a couple of things.  Haz said I wasn’t seeing anyone, but I thought maybe I’d verify it with you ‘cause you’re my flatmate and all.  Have I invited any girls over to the flat?  I don’t really want any surprises or angry phone calls, obviously.”

“Any girls?” Liam echoed weakly.

“Yeah.  Hey, you look a bit poorly right now.  Maybe you should--“

“I’m good,” Liam assured him.  “And uh…no.  No, you haven’t brought any girls around.”  

Zayn thought he was straight.  Liam couldn’t believe he was hearing these words from his boyfriend--his fucking _boyfriend_ (or ex-boyfriend as he kept having to remind himself).  Zayn was looking at him peculiarly so Liam did his best to pull himself together.  “Anything else you were wondering?”

“Yeah.”  Zayn looked sheepish.  “What do I do?”

“Oh…well you’re free to do whatever you want.  I mean, this is your place as much as mine.”

“No, I mean, like for a job or whatever,” Zayn clarified as Liam stared back at him dumbfounded.  “Liam, can you not do that?  I feel stupid enough as it is.”

“Well, I guess I assumed Harry or Louis would’ve mentioned it.  Sorry, it’s just…well, you’re ace at it, that’s all.”

“Ace at what exactly?”

“Drawing--you’re an artist, a comic book artist.”  Liam wondered how Zayn could forget a thing like that, a thing that was so ingrained with who he was as a person.

“Well, that’s sick.  Talk about living the fucking dream, eh?”  Zayn had a sad look in his eyes that didn’t match his words.  “How long have I had that gig then?  Does it pay the bills, like?”

“About a year and a half.  You’ve a number of clients now--and yes, it more than pays the bills.  You’ve been saving up money for a car as well, I think.”  He knew, actually.  “I hope you don’t mind, but I, um, took the liberty of telling a few of your main clients that you’d had a bad car accident and that you’d have to take a bit of a hiatus.  I spoke to your mum about it.  It was while you were in the coma and everything.”

“That who the flowers are from?”  Zayn asked, indicating the colourful, massive arrangement Harry had set on the table.  “One of my clients?”

Liam nodded.  “Yeah, they’re from Marvel.”

“Like, THE Marvel?” Zayn asked, completely gobsmacked.  “Holy shit.”

“Basically,” Liam chuckled.  “And yeah, you’ve got a couple of clients on this side of the pond as well.”

“So do we work together or something?  That how we met?”

“No, you work from home mostly…in your studio.”

“There’s a studio here?”  Zayn’s jaw dropped, looking around.  “This is a three bedroom flat?”

“No, I meant at your desk…in your bedroom.”  Liam wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead.  That had been close.  He’d have to be more careful than that in the future.  “We just like to call it that because it sounds proper.  Sometimes you do initial sketches at Harry’s tea shop though.  You say the change of scenery helps when you’re stuck.”

“You never told me what you do, Liam,” Zayn reminded him.  It bothered him that Zayn didn’t know anything about him.  It was like Zayn was having him on, teasing him as he used to love to do.  He wished Zayn was doing that now, wished it with all his heart.

Then again, maybe it was better this way.

“Liam, you’re giving me that look again.”

“Oh sorry.  I’m a personal trainer.”  Liam ran a hand through his hair and thought about his next words carefully.  He wished he would’ve rehearsed his responses more.  “And we…um…met through Harry.  He took a few sessions with me, and we became friends.  Then you, uh, needed someone to share this flat you found and yeah.  That’s about it.”  It wasn’t about it though.  It wasn’t even fucking close.

“So you’re a personal trainer, huh?  Good to know.”  He chewed on his lip.  “Hate to ask you this, but do you mind helping me to my room?  I’m fucking knackered.  I could probably manage, but I’m still a bit sore from Louis’ shit driving.”  

“Yeah, I can do that,” Liam replied, swallowing thickly.  He helped Zayn up from the sofa and steadied him with one arm wrapped around the other boy’s small waist.  Zayn had always been thin but now his shirt hung loose on his wiry frame.  Even so, he still felt like _his_ Zayn.  Liam closed his eyes and tried not to think about the past, about the way Zayn would sidle up to him like a cat.  He tried not to linger on how their bodies always slotted together so perfectly, just as they did now.  

He wondered how Zayn couldn’t feel it.

They entered Zayn’s ‘new’ room and Liam helped him to the bed.  Everything seemed difficult for Zayn, and Liam would have given anything to take away even an ounce of discomfort.  The guilt hit him hard then, despite all of Louis’ reassurances.    

“A personal trainer?” Zayn repeated once he caught his breath.  “I’m not really the sporty type, never have been.  I’m really more into art and--but wait, you already knew that ‘cause that’s like my job and all.  I’m a comic book artist.”  Zayn said the last part to himself, as if saying the sentence aloud would make it stick somehow.  His cheeks flushed, and Liam couldn’t get over how small and fragile he looked sitting there.  “Maybe I’ll sign up for a few sessions after I’m healed.”

“Uh-huh,” Liam managed.  It was difficult to look at Zayn when he said things like this, things that brought up memories so agonisingly vivid they nearly took his breath away.  It was hard not to scream back at the oblivious boy that he’d already taken some sessions with him.  It all started when Harry had asked Zayn to come along with him to the gym.  Liam had always been convinced that Harry had set the two of them up although Harry would never admit it.  Zayn had signed up for personal training sessions that same day with Liam.  After a few weeks, it became increasingly apparent that Zayn was more interested in him than his training advice.  

That was two years ago but it might as well have been a lifetime.

Liam was relieved minutes later to be back in ‘his’ room, the room he and Zayn had shared once upon a time.  He was relieved he didn’t have to answer impossible questions, relieved he no longer had to face those vacant hazel eyes.  

The memories followed him though.  Of course they did.

 


	3. Zayn

 

Zayn sat on the edge of the bed with the baby blue duvet he didn’t remember picking out.  Except for the torn edge, it seemed almost brand new.  He despised that powder blue colour and couldn’t imagine ever choosing it.  Maybe his mum bought it for him as a housewarming gift.  He considered ringing her up and asking her but then decided it was absurd to call someone just to ask about a bloody duvet.  

Besides, it wasn’t just the duvet.  It was everything--or mostly everything anyway.  He sat there glumly, taking it all in.  To be fair, there _were_ a number of things he recognised.  For example, there was the first comic book he ever bought, _The Incredible Hulk #1_ ; the homemade card Safaa had decorated for him before he left for uni; a medal he’d won at an art show when he was 12; and a framed photograph of his family holidaying in Blackpool.

Then there were all the other things.

There was an expensive laptop, professional art supplies, and other equipment he would have died for--but it was like he nicked them from someone else.  They were far too posh for Zayn Malik, art student, but apparently just right for Zayn Malik, comic book artist.  There was a wardrobe full of mostly new clothes and all sorts of jewellery lying on the dresser:  rings, chains, studs, and even bracelets.  He wondered how someone could accumulate so much stuff in a few years.  

Zayn was home from the strange unfamiliarity of the hospital, and yet, he almost wanted to go back.  These things…these things didn’t belong to him.  Not really.  This room didn’t feel comfortable, didn’t feel the way a home should.

He was beginning to have second thoughts now about his decision to come back to the Islington flat he shared with Liam.  The bloke seemed nice enough, but it just added to the unfamiliarity of everything. 

He thought he would feel better if he went directly back to the life he had before the accident but he didn’t.  He didn’t at all. 

 

*****

 

Time passed slowly.  One week turned into two weeks, one month into two.  Luckily, between insurance and savings, he was able to not have to concentrate on things like jobs and being an adult.  In addition, Liam took care of sorting out the bills, rent, etc.  It was an ideal arrangement.

That left Zayn time to focus on the pain.  There was a lot of it--still.  Some days that first month home, he didn’t feel like getting out of bed so he didn’t.   

Instead, he’d lay there for hours feeling sorry for himself.  Liam didn’t usually bother him on those days.  He could tell Liam was upset about something in his personal life as well.  Zayn figured it was either his job or a girl but didn’t ask him.  He didn’t want to intrude.  In any case, he had his hands full just focusing on his own pain.

His mum came down for another visit his first month home.  At first, he had been looking forward to seeing her.  After a few days, however, he changed his mind.  She looked sick with worry, and it was almost too much trying not to show how much pain he was in or how down he felt.  One night, he had gone to bed early and had overheard his mum weeping to Liam-- _Liam, his bloody flatmate_ \--in the living room.  He tried his best then to chipper up and look somewhat alive, but he was more than relieved when she left for Bradford that weekend.  It was much easier to fake happiness over the phone.

Soon, it started to get a little better.  He began to enjoy the company of his mates again.  He relished his medical appointments--anything to break up the awful monotony.  He didn’t even mind when Louis routinely badgered him about doing the exercises he’d been assigned by his physio.  Besides, Louis often had some useful tips to offer whenever he felt like throwing in the towel.

Zayn especially loved seeing his best mate.  Harry generally brought whatever was left from the bakery case at his shop and Niall, who worked for Harry now, would invariably tag along.  Zayn couldn’t help but smile whenever Harry scolded Niall for eating all the strawberry scones or chocolate tarts on the way over.  The long-suffering gaffer would shake his head before helping Zayn adjust his sling or figure out a few unknown names on his contact list.

Then, they would leave, and it was just him and Liam again in the flat that seemed cold and empty despite the humid heat of a British summer.  Just him, Liam, and the pain.

Truthfully, the pain wasn’t as sharp or as unrelenting as before.  Sometimes it would ease up into a slow drone, and he could almost forget about it.

But not quite.

 

*****

 

Three months.  Three months after the accident that had changed his life--taken three years of it more like.  Zayn was sat on the edge of his bed again after a particularly rough night.  It had started yesterday, really, that searing pain that originated in his right shoulder and travelled downwards.  He no longer had to wear that sling for his broken collarbone so he thought the bloody thing wouldn’t hurt so Goddamn much.  He was wrong.  

After popping an extra couple of muscle relaxers than Liam would have approved of, Zayn managed to fall asleep.  He glanced at the clock now:  18:04.  He had slept most of the day away, but at least he wasn’t feeling quite as poorly as he had before.

He scanned this room and quickly changed his mind.  It felt just as unfamiliar as always.  He hated that.  Today, he felt certain the unfamiliarity was taunting him, and that’s when he knew he’d been in bed way too fucking long.

He decided to get up, have a pot noodle, and watch telly.  Liam was gone somewhere, probably working.  As a personal trainer, he often worked evenings so Zayn wasn’t surprised.  Even though Liam was nice enough, Zayn didn’t mind the reprieve from their awkward, forced conversations.  

What bothered him most about Liam, though, was hard to explain.  Sometimes Liam felt so familiar Zayn could swear he remembered him.  He would search his memory, try to clear the lens, but there would be nothing.  It was that same feeling when you walked into a house that was haunted.  You could sense the past there, maybe even feel a presence, but that was it.  You had no knowledge of what tragic events occurred there, no real cause for the feeling.  Yet it was there all the same.  

And that was how he felt with Liam.  

He knew they were mates, but he didn’t have a single memory of him.  Zayn had nothing to back up his feeling, no empirical evidence whatsoever.  He had no facts or logic to sink his teeth into.  He’d even gone hunting through his phone--and Harry’s--for photos of Liam and him together, and he only found half a dozen or so:  a couple shots at a music festival (maybe Glastonbury), another one at a football match with Louis’ Under 14s, and a few at Niall’s last birthday party/pub crawl.  But even in those, Liam and him were on opposite sides of the bloody picture.  Although Zayn wasn’t a numbers and logic person, he still believed you had to know a person a little before you became mates with them.

And now after three months, Zayn still felt he barely knew his flatmate.

They had been living together under the same roof so it wasn’t like Zayn hadn’t had plenty of opportunities to get to know Liam better.  He had.  But it was like Liam had this advantage he’d never overcome, and it bothered him.  Zayn wasn’t completely to blame however.  When Liam wasn’t being helpful (bordering on patronising), he’d mope about the flat without saying a bloody word.  He’d have these bizarre mood swings where he’d go from being friendly to being completely cold and aloof at the drop of a hat.  Also, Liam would sometimes freak when Zayn would ask him the littlest thing like what his weekend plans were or whether Zayn was doing an exercise correctly.  As a personal trainer, you’d think Liam would be happy to offer feedback but that certainly wasn’t the case.

One time, Zayn merely complimented Liam on his Batman keychain, and Liam had the hump for days.  All Zayn had said was that it was sick and looked like something he’d buy and Liam shot right out the bloody door.  He came back hours later saying he had needed some air.  That was it.  Ran out like the building was ablaze because he needed some fucking air.  

Liam’s ‘walks’ became more and more frequent.  He was generally in a better mood when he returned, so Zayn couldn’t really be narked about it.  So what if Liam was a bit distant?  It was his prerogative.  Much of the time, Liam was quite congenial and was always offering to lend Zayn a hand.  Really, Zayn had no right to complain.  

And anyway Liam was apparently close with Louis.  The two often worked out together and did…well, whatever the fuck they did.  Liam certainly didn’t offer up much and Louis never seemed to want to talk about Liam.  This was just fine by Zayn because he didn’t really want to talk about Liam either.

Zayn was just finishing up in the kitchen and was about to switch on the telly when his phone rang.  “Hey, Nialler.”

“Hiya!  What would you say if I asked you to come out with us tonight?”

“I’d say the same thing I told you the last five times.”  Zayn eyed his noodles longingly.  They were getting soggier by the second.

“Yeah, thought as much,” Niall chuckled, not put out in the least by Zayn’s lack of enthusiasm.  “But listen.  It’s exactly three months since you-know-what, and I thought we should have a proper piss-up.  Besides, Louis says you owe him a drink.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know…something about you calling him a murderous bastard last week because you wouldn’t try the extra exercises he gave ya.”

“It was fucking _Yoga_.  Tell him to save that shit for someone else.  I’m sure Haz would be up for it.”  Zayn was also sure Haz would be up for just about anything Louis suggested.  “Speaking of Haz, is he gonna be there or is he minding the shop?”

“Nah, Harry bunked off a couple of hours ago, said he had to meet somebody.”

“Who?”

“Blow me if I know.  But it’s not like I can say anything, him being the gaffer and all.  Well, what do you say, mate?”

Zayn pursed his lips.  It had been so long since he’d had a night out with the lads, so long since he’d done anything fun really.  Then again, his doctors kept telling him to continue to take it easy, whatever that meant.  “I don’t know….”

“Come on then.  I promise it’ll be good craic.”

“Nialler, it’s not like I can dance or anything in my present condition.”

“You?  Dance?  That’s fucking new!” Niall howled.  Zayn didn’t mind the ribbing though.  Niall was right--he couldn’t dance.  At least that was something that hadn’t changed in three years.   

“I just don’t want to fuck up anything, you know?”

“You won’t.  I know this place, played there last week.  It’s chill but still has a good vibe and everything.  They play sick music--old school stuff, too.  You’d like it.”

“Yeah…sounds cool.  And you can count me in.  I need to get out of this bloody flat before I go mad.”

“Really?!”  Niall sounded so genuinely elated that Zayn immediately felt better about his decision.  “Louis’ gonna piss himself; said I’d have a better chance of Derby winning the league than you agreeing to come out with us tonight.  So, I’ll pick you up in a couple hours, yeah?  Louis is gonna meet us there.  I’ll text ya before I leave.”  

“Cool.  See you then.”

Zayn took a bite of his cold toast and thought about when he should start getting ready.  He didn’t have much time, as he figured it.  It was a fucking chore to shower, put on jeans and a shirt, and fix his hair when his right shoulder was on fire.

He thought about ringing Niall back, declining the invitation, and crawling back into bed--the bed with the blue duvet.  He wanted to throw the stupid thing in the bin right now along with all the other crap that was supposed to be familiar but wasn’t.  

Yeah, he definitely needed a night away from this place.

He decided to leave Liam a note just in case he got concerned when he returned to the flat.  Grabbing a pencil from the cup, he scratched out a couple of lines, each word taking an eternity to form.  It had been so long since he’d written with his right hand, and the result of his effort looked more like the scribblings of a toddler than someone who made their living as an artist.  Frustrated, he wadded the notepaper into a ball and tossed it in the bin.  There was no need for a note anyways.  Liam would probably be back by the time he left.  Besides, it wasn’t like Liam had the common decency to leave him a note when _he_ was gonna be gone all bloody day.  Then again, they were just flatmates so….

He felt a tinge, felt something pull at his chest.  

He ignored it.  He’d become quite good at that lately.

 


	4. Liam

 

Liam was relieved when he saw Harry at a corner booth in Nando’s.  He had half-expected Harry not to show up, things being how they were and all.  Liam then spotted Louis at the counter as he approached it through the crowd.  It looked like he was bribing the girl at the till to stick a black flag in his order so that everyone thought he’d gone for extra hot peri-peri, the wanker.  Louis turned then and waved him over to where Harry was already seated.  Apparently, they had ordered for him.  And paid.  Liam wished they would have saved the money because he wasn’t hungry.  He was hardly ever hungry anymore.

The waiter brought over the grub just after they had all sat down with their drinks.  Louis made a fanfare about the fact that his was the super spicy chicken.  Harry opted for a quinoa salad, and Liam laughed at Louis’ turned-up nose as he surveyed Harry’s plate.  The waiter placed a chicken sandwich and peri-salted chips in front of him, a meal he would have enjoyed if he didn’t have so much on his mind right now.

“I’m gonna tuck in,” Louis announced, taking a massive bite of chicken.  “I promised to meet Nialler later.  You know, Liam, you should come along.  You never go out any-- _Fuck_.”  

Louis snatched at Harry’s water and downed half of it in one go.  His eyes were watering, and he began coughing and gasping.  

Harry looked genuinely alarmed.  “You alright, mate?”

“Yeah, it’s just…the chicken,” he choked out.  “It’s fucking hot; wasn’t expecting it.”  He took another gulp of water.

Harry crinkled his brow.  He took a long look at Louis first and then the flag on his chicken.  “But didn’t you want it hot?”

Liam burst out laughing as Louis turned red.  It felt so good to laugh with his mates again.  “Serves you right, you bloody wanker.”

Louis shrugged his shoulders and winked back at Liam.  “Maybe you could take that home to Zayn.  He’s the only one mad enough to consider that food and not a fucking fire hazard.”

“Speaking of Zayn,” Harry began as Louis requested a take away box from a passing waiter, “how is he?”  Harry looked anxious, like a concerned mum.

“Zayn?  He’s good--recovering anyway.”  Harry exhaled and seemed to shrink two inches in the booth.  Liam licked his lips and continued.  “He still can’t draw or do much of anything with his right arm.  Don’t think he’s gotten any memories back, but you’d probably know more than me on that front.”  Liam pushed his plate away.  The smell of the food was making him nauseated.  “By the way, cheers much for meeting with me, Harry.  Oh, and I appreciate you being here as well, Louis.”

“No problem,” Louis returned, eying Liam’s untouched sandwich and chips.  “I wanted to make sure Harold was being civil like.  Hey, you gonna eat all of that, Payno?”

“Nah, help yourself.”  He slid his plate across the table towards Louis.  He was glad to be rid of it.

“Liam,” Harry began, looking proper bothered, “so I hate to be blunt, but why exactly _did_ you ask to meet with me?”

The two weren’t on the closest of terms at the moment, hadn’t been for a while.  They got on well enough when needed however.  And right now, Liam needed to talk with someone who knew Zayn.  More specifically, he needed someone who knew the version of Zayn who was currently residing in his flat.

“I don’t know how else to say this, but…do you think Zayn is straight?”  The two boys across the table stared at him as if he’d suddenly become unhinged.

Louis cleared his throat.  “I was under the impression you two were fucking at one point so I’d have to say no to that one, bro.”

Harry rolled his eyes at the boy who was sat next to him.  “Maybe you should explain,” he suggested.

And so Liam did.  He tried his best to convey what he had observed over the past three months since the accident, all the little things that added up to the same conclusion.  He also told them how Zayn had seemed so open to being in a gay relationship when they began dating.  It was never an issue, never something Zayn struggled with.  But this Zayn, the Zayn from three years ago, was so far from this mind-set that Liam began to question everything.  Liam wondered if Zayn was ever attracted to him.  After all, sexuality wasn’t a bloody light switch you turned on and off.  Liam didn’t think physical attraction was either but maybe he was wrong.  

When he finished, he was worried he had confessed too much, but it was too late to take it all back.

Louis spoke first.  “So he thinks he’s straight as an arrow then, eh?  That could be a problem if you’re trying to get him back in the sack.”

“Louis,” Harry reprimanded, frowning.  “I’m sorry, Liam, but why does it matter about his sexuality?  He’s just your flatmate or did you forget that?”

“No, it’s just been bothering me, you know?  I’m beginning to wonder if it was ever real.  You knew him growing up, Harry.  I thought you might be able to shed some light on this.”

“Zayn used to be quite a ladies’ man at school.  Then, he slowed down once he got serious about his art.”

“What about the year before he met me?” Liam pressed.

Harry seemed reluctant to answer but then it must have crossed his mind that Zayn had forgotten all of this, and it wasn’t like Liam could ask him.  “There were a few dates with guys starting about six months or so before you met.  A couple with girls as well.  I don’t remember all the details so don’t ask me.  I’ll admit I was a little surprised at first.”

Liam grunted.  “Not as surprised as Zayn will be if he ever gets some of his memories back.”

“You know, it took me a while to realise I was gay as well,” Louis admitted solemnly.

Harry sat up in the booth.  “Oh really?”  He sounded about as nonchalant as a police siren.

Louis smirked at Liam.  “Yeah, but after I logged in about a thousand hours of gay porn, I figured I probably had a bit of sugar in me tank, if you know what I mean.”    

Harry stirred around the yellow-orange clumps in his salad with his fork.  “I, um, don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a long term relationship with a guy, Lou.  I mean, I’m not suggesting anything.  I was just, you know, wondering if you were into romantic relationships with guys or whatever.”  Harry flushed as he continued to play with his food.

Liam looked from one to the other of his mates and shook his head.  The two were hopeless, always had been since he met them.  Louis was already his closest mate, but that didn’t mean the guy didn’t have his head up his arse when it came to Harry.   It was obvious that Harry was head-over-heels in love with the Doncaster lad and you could see Louis’ heart eyes from a mile away.

He wished his and Zayn’s relationship were as simple to read as the chemistry between these two idiots.  But as his mum said, sometimes you can’t see the wood for the trees.

He thought back to that one time when he had gotten so tired of Louis going on about how brilliant Harry was that Liam couldn’t take it any longer.

 

 

> _“Louis, why don’t you just snog the dude already?”_
> 
> _Louis was stunned and more than slightly offended.  “I don’t get off with mates, bro.  It goes against the code,” he added haughtily.  Besides, Harry isn’t into lads like me.  He wants a nice bloke he can settle down with, one who’s into--”_
> 
> _“…Yorkshire tea and football and moonlit walks along the bank and--”_
> 
> _“Nah, Harry would fancy a guy who works in the City.  He’d go for the sure thing, the investment banker at Lloyd’s who could buy him a house with a picket fence and all that rot.”_
> 
> _“You’re just talking rubbish because you’re chicken.” Liam scoffed._
> 
> _“You’re going the right way for a broken nose, mate,” Louis warned, suddenly serious._
> 
> _“I’m bigger than you.”_
> 
> _“I’m scrappier,” Louis shot back, “and I’ve no qualms about fighting dirty, just saying.”_
> 
> _Liam belly-laughed.  “You’d really throw it down with me just because I said you were too chicken to ask Harry out?  You’re taking the piss, surely.”_
> 
> _“Try me,” Louis shrugged.  Liam cocked his head to the side, trying to determine if his best mate was serious._
> 
> _He couldn’t say for certain, but on the other hand, he thought it wise never to bring up the touchy subject again._

 

Louis’ booming voice brought Liam out of his daydream.  “Well, I have to meet Nialler in a bit here.  Either one of you fancy joining us?”

“No, I’m absolutely shattered,” Harry admitted, covering a yawn.  “Had to open the shop every day this week.”

“Payno?”

“Nah, maybe next time.  Thanks anyway.”

After Louis departed, Harry and Liam chatted a while longer.  As their conversation drew to a close, Harry grew serious.  He had that brooding look, and Liam knew what was coming.

“You know you can’t let anything happen between you two, right?”  Harry’s stare was piercing.  “If you feel yourself slipping or if he starts to remember everything, you need to tell me.  He can come live with me or stay with his family.  Just please don’t do anything stupid.”

“Yeah, I got it.”

“No, Liam.  This is important.  I don’t want you fucking with his feelings again, alright?  He has another chance and you have another chance to make this right.  Don’t muck it up.”

As Liam rode the tube home, the take away from Nando’s in his lap, Harry’s words stayed with him.   _“…You have another chance to make this right,”_ he had said.  

If only.

Liam closed his eyes and let his mind wander back to that day, back to the day when it all went wrong.

 

 

> _Zayn looked up at him through those long lashes.  For a man who generally wore his heart on his sleeve, he sounded quite detached.  “I’d like to think about it for a few days.  Hey, did you want another drink or…?”_
> 
> _That was it.  No explanation.  No caveat or qualification.  Nothing._
> 
> _They had just finished eating when it happened.  Liam had taken Zayn to a trendy Indian restaurant in Soho with a modern, yet lush, ambience.  Liam had chosen it because it was one of Zayn’s favourites and because this was a special night.  After two years of being together (and nearly a year-and-a-half of living together), Liam had decided this was the time.  He was going to propose to his boyfriend._
> 
> _But now, as he sat across from the man he thought he knew, he wanted to take the words back and chuck the two-tone titanium band sitting naked on the table between them into his half-eaten lamb vindaloo._
> 
> _“It’s because I don’t make as much money as you, isn’t it?”  He didn’t know why he had said it when he saw the hurt in Zayn’s eyes.  Perhaps, it was because it had to be said.  It was something he always felt no matter how much Zayn tried to reassure him that it didn’t make a difference._
> 
> _It wasn’t just the money either, it was the status.  Zayn was a university graduate.  He wasn’t.  Zayn was an up-and-coming comic book artist.  He worked at a gym.  Zayn had a future.  Liam didn’t even have a fucking past._
> 
> _“Why do you keep saying that shit!” Zayn hissed.  Liam could tell his boyfriend’s emotions had quickly escalated from hurt to anger.  “I don’t care how much Goddamn money you make.”  Normally Zayn would have followed up a statement like that with a ‘because I love you,’ but not this time.  “It’s not about the money, Liam.”_
> 
> _Liam eyes were burning.  “’Course it’s not.  It’s because I’m not good enough for you.  The money is just one example.  You’ve finally realised I’m not at your level.  Well done you for figuring it out before it’s too late.”  Liam felt as if he were being swallowed by a black hole.  Sure, they had argued before but never like this.  He could barely feel his hands they were tingling so much._
> 
> _“Liam, what the fuck’s got into you?”_
> 
> _“Fine, I take it back,” Liam said calmly, stumbling to his feet.  He felt dizzy.  His hands and feet were completely numb._
> 
> _“Take what back?” Zayn demanded, glancing self-consciously at the tables of customers next to them.  Liam could care less if all of London overheard them.  “What exactly are you taking back, Liam?”_
> 
> _“The proposal and every ‘I love you’ I’ve wasted on you over the past two years, Zayn.  I take all of it back right fucking now.”_
> 
> _Liam had barely reached the pavement in front of the restaurant when a sob ripped from his chest.  He had overreacted.  Instinctively, he knew he had overreacted.  Unfortunately, there was piss all he could do about that now. In his defence, his emotions were high, and he had been expecting too much.  He had been expecting the impossible really.  It did sting, though, the way Zayn had seemed so unaffected when Liam had asked him to spend the rest of his life with him.  He felt like he’d been run over by a double-decker bus._
> 
> _Well, there was nothing he could do about any of it now.  Nothing, except call Louis and get smashed out of his skull, that is._

 

Liam pulled himself away from the painful memory and gazed out the window of the train as the adverts flew by in whatever station they had just passed.  It was bad enough to remember that dinner and the failed proposal.  He _really_ didn’t want to think about what happened later that night.

He wasn’t strong enough for that right now.  

Anyway, after the sting of rejection had worn thin, Liam got it.  Zayn was like that.  He needed space on massive decisions.  He was afraid of commitment and settling down for some reason.  Liam thought it was odd since Zayn’s parents were the epitome of the happily married couple and all that but Louis had suggested that was what made Zayn so nervous.  He was scared he wouldn’t choose as well as his parents had done.

But really, Zayn was like that about everything.  He made indecision an art form.  He had spent nearly three months analysing the pros and cons of where to spend their holiday.  He would spend hours waffling over which seats to buy for a concert.  He had logged in countless hours comparing vehicles before deciding he wanted a motorcycle and thereby practically restarting the whole process over again.  Them, he changed his mind again and decided on a car.  That was Zayn.

But Liam had been foolish enough to think that Zayn wouldn’t need time to think over a massive decision like an engagement.  And so he had overreacted, got rat-arsed, and committed the single biggest mistake of his life.  

Liam confessed to his sin three days later because he couldn’t keep it inside any longer.  Besides, it was better that it come from him rather than Louis.  Zayn didn’t say much.  He just nodded, his eyes looking almost as dead as Liam felt inside.  Zayn was the type to keep everything bottled up when he was upset, and he was clearly upset then.  Zayn had barely spoken to him at all since the proposal fiasco and suddenly it became worse.  The flat was like a ghost town.  

Zayn _had_ spoken with Harry though (or Louis had).  Liam opened the door when Harry came to check on Zayn one day and one glance at Harry’s face told him that the Cheshire lad was anything but happy with him now.  Liam knew the feeling; he wasn’t pleased with himself either.

A couple days after that, things appeared to be getting better.  Liam was still sleeping on the couch, but at least they were on speaking terms again.  Then, out of the blue, Zayn announced he was going up to Bradford to spend a week with his family.  He had told Liam he needed to ‘clear his head.’  Liam had been worried then.  Really worried.  

“See you soon,” Zayn had told him before he left.  He’d given Liam’s hand a squeeze.  It was the first time Zayn had touched him since _that_ night.  It felt like a goodbye.  It was heart-wrenching to watch Zayn drive off in that forest green mini, not knowing what he was going to say when he came back.

 _If_ he came back.

Because Liam had become almost certain that Zayn had planned to leave him.  Maybe it wasn’t going to be a clean break, but it was clear Zayn had ultimately made his decision and it wasn’t good news where Liam was concerned.  He only wished he had found the letter.  Zayn had mentioned it on the sole call he made to Liam before leaving his parent’s house.  Zayn relayed how he had put his heart into it in case he was too afraid to say what he needed to say when he saw Liam again.  He had said it was the hardest thing he ever had to do, writing that letter, and that he was going to finish it up that afternoon before returning to London that evening.

And so Liam waited.  And waited.  

When he received the call from the unknown number, he figured it might be Zayn letting him know he had been delayed.  It turned out to be the hospital, of course, stating that his boyfriend was in critical condition.

Afterwards Liam had searched Zayn’s personal items in his hospital room, ransacked what was left of Zayn’s car, and even asked Trisha if he’d left it in Bradford when she went back home.  The letter had vanished--not that it mattered.  Liam thought he had a general idea of its contents.  Whether Zayn had driven back to tell Liam he wanted to slow things down (which meant a drawn-out but inevitable breaking off) or whether he was actually leaving him was irrelevant.  No, Liam wasn’t as concerned with what the letter had said as the fact that it was the last piece of Zayn, of the Zayn he knew.  The letter symbolised the Zayn he still selfishly wanted back, even for a moment.  It would have been a consolation, a pale comparison to what he once had and pissed away.  Still, reading Zayn’s words addressed to him would have been something.

But fate had decided he didn’t even deserve that much, and fate was probably right.

 


	5. Zayn

 

The club was like Niall had promised--chill.  Niall was able to get them into the VIP lounge somehow because…well, because he was Niall.  The kid had played there once, and he was on a first name basis with the owner.  Even Louis was impressed (after he’d recovered from the initial shock of seeing Zayn out in public).

Zayn felt a bit out of place there with the blue lights, weird textured walls, and drinks menu that was longer and more pretentious than a fucking Tolstoy novel.  On the other hand, it was better than going to some crowded place blasting House music so loud you couldn’t hear yourself think.  Also, he liked the fact that he’d never been here before.  There was less chance of him knowing someone.  That was always his worst nightmare.  He was terrified he’d see someone in a shop or restaurant, someone whom he had met during his ‘lost years.’  He’d look like an asshole for blowing them off or a stupid git for not remembering them.  It had happened twice at Tesco’s.  Now he either let Liam pick up the groceries or he’d go clear across town just to avoid running into people he knew.   

A couple drinks in and the atmosphere was growing on him.  An old D’Angelo tune--“Brown Sugar”--played as Zayn kicked back and half-listened to the story Niall was telling them about meeting some celebrity Zayn never heard of (or didn’t remember) at his last gig.

Unfortunately, Louis had to leave early because he had an early practice.  He seemed a bit wary about leaving them and even tried to convince Zayn to come back with him.  Zayn didn’t want to leave yet though.  Not after he’d gone through all that bloody trouble getting ready.  

Zayn had a couple more drinks and sang along to “Seven Days.”  He was half-pissed, but he still nailed every damn lyric, thank you very much.  He blushed when Niall began clapping afterwards and wanted to sink into his chair when the table of girls next to them followed suit.  Niall invited the girls to join them.  Of course he did.

Another drink and he was feeling no pain.  Earlier in the evening, Zayn worried he might be a bit out of practice when it came to making a pull.  He shouldn’t have been.  Of course, it didn’t hurt to have Niall with him either.  That lad had talent.  Real fucking talent.

Pretty soon Niall and him were squeezed into a cab with a couple of fit birds from the club.  Doreen (or was it Denise?) kept prattling on about how she was going to be an extra in a music video.  She smelled like strawberries and strong perfume, but she had a nice smile.

“Oi, Z.,” Niall slurred, wiping his mouth with the back of his arm.  He’d been snogging the Italian bird since they left the club and had just come up for air.  “I was thinking you might just crash at my gaff.”

“Nah, my flat’s closer and-- _fuck_.”  A stabbing pain ripped through his right shoulder, making him see stars.  He overheard Niall telling the over-zealous ginger hanging on Zayn to mind his “gammy” arm.  Zayn wished he had another drink or some painkillers--anything to take the edge off.  On the other hand, he was pretty sure he’d reached his limit a while ago.  

“I’m alright,” Zayn managed after the worst of it had passed.  

“So what about Liam then?” Niall questioned.

“Huh?”

“Liam James Payne, your flatmate.”

“What about him?”  

“Yeah, you’re right,” Niall said at last while Zayn tried to figure out what the hell he was right about.  “He’s probably asleep anyway.”  

When the cab arrived, Zayn was about to step out when Niall stopped him.  “Listen, I’ll walk you up, mate.  I don’t want you getting hurt on my account.”  He turned back to the Italian bird.  “I’ll be right back.  Don’t move an inch, love.”  Despite his instructions, the girl got out of the car and latched herself onto Niall.  He shrugged his shoulders and directed the cabbie to wait.

The quartet trooped up the stairs.  Niall and his girl were completely arsed, falling over every third step as they laughed obnoxiously loud.  Zayn’s head began to throb as they ascended.  A strange sensation washed over him--a mixture of guilt and nausea mixed with heavy perfume.  He tried to shake it off just as he tried to shake off the ginger on his arm.

They got to the first floor and Zayn sank down on the small landing.  He had seen something--something which could only be categorised as a memory retrieved from the black void.  

 

> _Zayn raced up the stairs to the flat, two at a time.  He’d been at a conference all day and couldn’t wait to get home.  Just as he gripped the knob, however, something stopped him dead in his tracks.   He slid down to the floor and hugged his knees to his chest.  He felt so very alone._
> 
> _But then Liam came and sat beside him.  Suddenly it didn’t feel as cold as it had before._
> 
> _Liam asked him to go inside but he couldn’t.  He wasn’t ready.  He was scared and wasn’t ready.  He wished Liam would understand._
> 
> _Zayn tried to explain how he felt, but the words wouldn’t come.  His tongue felt as if it were made of rubber._
> 
> _Then Liam’s eyes grew dark, and Zayn’s heart began to pound in his chest.  Anticipation burned like incense.  Liam licked his lips.  Zayn edged in closer…._

 

 

“What the bloody hell, Zayn?” Liam shouted.  It took Zayn a moment to register that the Liam speaking was the one standing in the doorway of their flat and not the bloke in his daydream or whatever that was.  

Zayn thought about leaving--just to prove the point that he was a fucking adult and could do whatever he damn well pleased, thank you very much.  He ditched the idea, though, as the soreness in his shoulder increased enough to battle for dominance with the way his head was pounding.  He sat on the top step and hugged his knees to his chest and just waited for the storm to pass.  He wasn’t up to all of this, not now.

Liam soon lost interest in interrogating his mute flatmate and found a new target in Niall.  His furious words scared off the girls who ran down the stairs to the waiting taxi.  Niall didn’t seem much up for a quarrel so he split as well.  

Two arms grabbed Zayn from behind and tried to hoist him up.  “Get your mitts off me,” Zayn growled.  “I can do it myself.”  

“What’s your bloody problem?” Liam demanded.  He slammed the door after Zayn eventually tottered over the threshold.

That was the tipping point.  Zayn stared hard at Liam, bleary-eyed and indignant.  “Do you get how hard this is?  Do you?  Because I don’t think you do.”

Liam scowled back at him.  “You don’t think this is difficult for me as well, Zayn?”

“No, sorry, but I don’t.  You’ve had to deal with a couple of inconveniences because I can’t remember shit, but I lost three years of my fucking life.  So no, I don’t think what we’re dealing with is even on the same level.”

Liam snorted.  “Sorry I messed up your chance to get your rocks off, mate.”

“You don’t fucking get it, do ya?  I haven’t been able to get off since the accident.  In case you haven’t noticed, I broke my Goddamn collarbone.  And yes, before you say it, there are more important things in life than that, but they probably include remembering who you fucking are and being able to do your Goddamn occupation.  Shit Liam, I don’t even think I’ll be able to do my job once I’m healed.”

A shadow crossed his flatmate’s face.  “What do you mean, Zayn?  You’re a top-notch artist.  You’re one of the most talented people I know.”

“You really think so?” Zayn scoffed.  “Because I don’t.  I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to work again--to the same standard anyway.  Like, I’ve examined some of my published work and sketches, and I don’t know how I was able to do them.  I’m afraid I’ll try to draw again once my right arm’s healed, and it won’t come out the same.  And then where the fuck am I?”

“I…I didn’t realise.”

“Yeah, well you also apparently didn’t realise what you just missed out on,” Zayn laughed drily.  “That bird you scared off probably would’ve went for you.  She was up for it, if you know what I mean.”

“Zayn, there’s….”  Liam hesitated, and Zayn eyed him curiously.  “There’s something you should know…about me, I mean.”  He took a deep breath.  “I’m gay.”  

“I’m living with a gay man?” Zayn asked incredulously.  It wasn’t that he was bothered that Liam was gay.  Hell, his best mate was gay.  It was just…surprising.  Suddenly he felt stupid.  “Sorry about the girls, man.  I didn’t know.”  And the more he thought about it, the more he realised what a prick he’d been to just burst into the flat in the middle of the night with Niall and two strangers without informing Liam first.  He leaned against the wall, hoping his dizziness would desert him.  “Fuck, you probably hate me now.”

“Course I don’t.  Wish I could help you more, in fact.”

Zayn rolled his eyes.  “Help me how?”

“However you want.”

“Well, now that I know you’re gay--wanna lend a hand yourself?” Zayn joked, gesturing to the bulge in his jeans.  To his surprise, Liam didn’t laugh it off like he was supposed to do.  Instead, he turned red and looked all fidgety.  Zayn couldn’t help but imagine a hand on his dick, Liam’s hand on his dick, and he immediately felt his cock twitch.

Liam cleared his throat nervously.  “I wouldn’t mind.  I mean, what are friends for, right?”

Zayn was glad he was propped up against the wall because he was damn sure he would have fallen over otherwise.  “You’d actually do that for me?  Like, you wouldn’t think it would be…I don’t know…naff or whatever ‘cause we’re flatmates?”

“Nah.  You’re pissed, and you probably won’t remember shit in the morning--”  Liam clasped a hand over his mouth.  “I didn’t mean it like that, Zayn, I swear.  I was talking about the liquor not your amnesia.  I shouldn’t have put it that way.”

“You’re good.  We’re good.”  

“Well, all I’m saying is I really don’t mind.  It’s not like I never had my hand on another guy’s dick before.”  Liam blushed and even in his drunken state, Zayn was pretty certain it was the cutest thing he ever saw.

Zayn knew he should say no, but what harm could it do?  His body was aching for a release and Liam was offering to help.  There was nothing wrong with that when you thought about it.  “Yeah, alright--how do you want to do this?”

“Go to your room.  I’ll be there in a minute.”

 

*****

 

Liam tread softly into the room, so softly Zayn wouldn’t have heard him if his senses weren’t on high alert.  He felt hot, maybe from the alcohol, but much more lucid than he had been just minutes ago.   

“You’re still dressed,” Liam stated.  “Hey, you sure about this?”

“Yeah, I’m sure, and I…uh…didn’t want it to be weird so….”  Even in the yellow glow of the lamplight, Zayn could see Liam’s half smile.  

“Here, I’ll help you take your jeans off.  Scoot down.”

Zayn did as Liam commanded.  His half-chub pressed firmly against the zip, and he shuddered at the mere touch of Liam’s fingers.  He needed this bad.  Liam slid the jeans past his bum and peeled them off slowly.  

Liam knelt at the foot of the bed and tugged on the front of his shirt.  “You mind if I take this off?  It’s boiling in here.”    

“Sure, go ahead.”  Zayn diverted his eyes for a moment.  Liam hardly ever took his shirt off around Zayn so it felt rude to stare at him as he did so.  Zayn had always assumed the other lad was just self-conscious, but when he finally looked back at Liam, the idea that Liam could have been even remotely insecure seemed utterly impossible.  Maybe it was just the way the lamplight hit Liam’s toned torso, but Zayn was fairly certain he’d never seen a guy so perfectly chiselled.  The shadows hit him in all the right places, accentuating the defined lines of his abdominal muscles.  Zayn’s breath caught in his throat as he imagined running his hand down that chest.  He wondered if it felt as hard as it looked.  He bet it did.  Maybe he’d only use the tip of his finger, dragging it downward along the defined pecs, watching as it hopped over the bumps and crevices before making its way downward towards that tuft of dark hair peeking out from the joggers which hung low on his hips-- _too_ fucking low.  

_Bloody hell._

Zayn bit his lip and squirmed as his eager cock strained in his boxers.  He had never been so turned on before.  Never been so hard, never in his whole fucking puff.  Any doubt Zayn had that he wouldn’t be able to get there with a man handling his junk was gone now.

Liam lazily outlined Zayn’s bulge through the thin fabric, making him shiver.  A finger curled under the elastic of Zayn’s boxers.  “You alright?”  Liam paused.  Cautious.  Curious.  Aware.  

“Yeah, I’m good.”  The words came out garbled.  Liam promptly removed the final barrier and Zayn’s erection sprung free, slapping against his stomach.  Zayn heard Liam sigh as he kneeled over him.  Zayn’s skin prickled as he waited for Liam to touch him, to do _something_.  

Zayn peered down through slits and saw his cock, red and leaking.  Impatient, he reached to grab himself with his good hand but Liam quickly swatted it away before giving him a warning look.  It was the sexiest thing Zayn had seen in a long time.

Liam toyed with him a while longer.  Zayn was grateful for the alcohol currently flowing through his bloodstream.  Without it, he was sure he would have come untouched just from this boy staring at his cock with _that look_ in his dark eyes.  Zayn felt a hand wrap around him then, and his back arched off the bed.  He groaned as Liam’s thumb swirled over the pink tip.   _Finally._

Precum spilt out of him, making each of Liam’s stokes faster, slicker.  Zayn couldn’t help but watch, straining his neck to get a good view.  He was mesmerised by Liam’s practised technique, the twist of his wrist as it travelled up and down his length.  Zayn couldn’t get enough of the way his thick shaft looked in Liam’s large, manly hands.  

The effort became too much and Zayn let his head fall back against the pillow.  He wanted to enjoy this.

He was just relaxing into the pleasure when it stopped all too abruptly.  Hi body was on edge, begging for a release.  But then his eyes shot open when he felt something warm and wet press against him.  Liam held his erection around the base with a strong hand as he began flicking his tongue against Zayn’s weeping slit.  It made him so hot, made his cock throb to watch how his seed was lapped up by Liam’s thirsty tongue.  

Zayn’s eyes fluttered as Liam’s mouth enclosed around the head.  He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the muscular shoulders with the sheen of perspiration hunched over him.  Liam bobbed up and down on his cock, lips hollowed and red.  Excruciatingly sweet sounds kept erupting from that mouth which took in his length so easily.  

He felt a trace of pain along his collarbone so he lay back again.  He closed his eyes and every sensation was multiplied by a thousand.  Zayn hissed as Liam’s teeth grazed lightly against him.  It was almost as if Liam knew him, knew the way he liked it rough.  He loved it even more now.  It was like combatting pain with pain--the feel of fingertips digging into his thighs supplanting the dull, ever-present pain from the accident.  It filled the aching need within his body.

Sooner than he wished, he felt the surge of his orgasm.  He couldn’t suppress it any more even if he wanted to--and shit, did he want to.  At Zayn’s warning, Liam popped off the head of his cock with a sound which would have sent Zayn over the edge had he not been this close.  With a moan he would have been embarrassed to share in the light, Zayn let go.  He felt a hand helping him through it the whole time, urging him to give more until he was shaking and exhausted, until even the slightest pressure sent a chill through his body.

When his senses returned, he peered up at Liam.  “Did that just happen?” he scratched out.  

Liam flushed.  “Hope you didn’t mind that I gave you a blowie instead.  I know we hadn’t talked about that, but…I sort of got carried away.”

“No, that was bloody amazing.  I owe you one.”  It was possibly the cheesiest thing he’d ever uttered, and he wanted to slap himself as soon as he said it.  

Liam didn’t seem to be bothered by his awkwardness however.  “Nah, you’re fine.  To be honest, I sort of made a mess myself.”  He looked down sheepishly at his joggers.

It made Zayn feel strange that he could have caused a reaction like that in his flatmate, but at the same time it took him off the hook.  “Well, that’s settled then, isn’t it?”  Liam just kept staring back at him in that way of his that made Zayn feel bad.  It was a look that said he was forgetting something important, something he shouldn’t have forgotten.  Zayn felt like he should speak so he did.  “Thanks again.  Guess we better get cleaned up, eh?”  

Zayn pushed himself up, wincing in pain as he did so.  He was worn out and collapsed halfway, just catching himself with his left elbow.  His arm shook.  His body was a dead weight and his collarbone, a burning albatross.  He wanted to scream he felt so weak and helpless.  

“Lay back down,” Liam ordered, transitioning into the role of nurse.  Liam wrapped an arm around Zayn’s back and lowered him against the soft mattress.  “You’re going to end up hurting yourself,” he scolded, voice still wrecked.  Zayn tried not to focus on that, though, as Liam’s bare chest pressed against him and his muscular arm lingered beneath his back.  Their eyes locked briefly before Liam slid his arm out and rolled off the bed.  

“Be right back,” Liam mumbled before disappearing out the door.  Zayn heard the tap run a bit before Liam returned with some towels.  Liam lay a damp cloth on Zayn’s forehead.  “You felt kind of warm,” he explained.  He then mopped up the mess Zayn had made on his stomach.  Liam’s motions were soothing, the opposite of his actions earlier.  

Zayn closed his eyes and enjoyed the cool, wet cloth on the back of his hot eyelids.  “Sorry to be such a pain.”

“It’s no bother,” Liam reassured.

“Well, all I can say is that I’m clearly not paying you enough,” Zayn cracked.  The room was dead silent so Zayn removed the rag.  Immediately, he realised Liam didn’t find the remark amusing in the least.  The other boy’s shoulders were tense and his eyes were now distant.  Zayn scrambled to find the right words.  “I was only taking the piss; I didn’t mean….”

“Didn’t mean what, Zayn?” Liam pressed.  You could feel the ache in his voice like a Patsy Cline song.   “What exactly didn’t you mean by that?”

Zayn was confused.  He knew he had said the wrong thing.  Zayn was always saying the wrong thing nowadays.  It was a stupid remark.  He didn’t know why he said it in the first place, but it seemed to hurt Liam more than it should somehow.  “Look, I’m sorry, man.  I really appreciate all you’ve done these past few months.  I don’t deserve you.”

Liam nodded slowly and deliberately.  He rose brusquely, throwing the soiled towels in the hamper.  He didn’t look at Zayn again.  He didn’t speak until after he closed the lights.  “Sleep tight, Zayn,” he called out as he shut the door.  “Don’t let the bedbugs bite.”

The funny thing was that Zayn didn’t want Liam to leave.  It made no sense, but he felt it.  It was like so many other things lately--he felt a pull, an emotion, a random sensation; yet, he didn’t know where any of it stemmed from.

It made no sense, had no basis, but still he felt it:   _he didn’t want Liam to leave._  

But he also didn’t know how to ask him to stay.

 


	6. Liam

 

 _“I don’t deserve you,”_ Zayn had told him Friday night.  It was now Sunday morning, and Liam still couldn’t get it out of his head.  Zayn didn’t deserve him.  Now that was ironic.  Zayn had left him and then fate had given Liam a kick up the arse by making Zayn forget him completely.  As if it wasn’t cruel enough to be hated…

...He also had to be _forgotten_.

Liam allowed himself to feel sorry for himself, just a little.  He allowed himself that luxury from time to time.  It seemed wrong in a way, what with all Zayn had to suffer through, but what Zayn had said about not paying him enough had struck a nerve.  Liam tried to tell himself that it wasn’t a big deal, that it was just some stupid comment.  But it still stung.  Zayn viewed Liam as a notch above hired help; he didn’t see that everything Liam did was out of love for the Bradford boy.  It hurt.  A lot.

And now he was starting to feel remorse for what happened, for what he _let_ happen.  He wasn’t supposed to be doing sexual acts with his ex-boyfriend, especially not in the current situation.  Even worse, Liam had jizzed, untouched, in his pants like a pubescent teenager.  But honestly, it was almost worth it to be able to have his mouth on that dick one more time, to have Zayn reduced to a mess of whimpers and whines because of Liam and Liam alone.

But fuck, Harry would murder him if he found out.

Liam swore to himself that it wouldn’t happen again.  It _couldn_ ’t happen again.

He checked the time and realised he was going to be late meeting Louis at the gym if he didn’t get moving.  Liam hated to be late.  Time was everything.  Besides, he could use a good workout to get all his pent-up energy out.  He also had a couple of sessions with new clients set up and God knows he needed the money.

He knocked softly on Zayn’s door before he left.  Zayn didn’t respond so he cracked the door open to check on him.  It was late morning but Zayn was still asleep--no surprise there.  

“I’m off to the gym, Zayn.  Call me if you need anything.”  

Liam hesitated in the doorway, then guiltily peeked in again.  He peered into the darkened room, sunlight filtering in through the window opposite.  The light shrouded the slumbering figure, kissing his eyelashes and highlighting that perfect profile.  

He used to love watching Zayn as he slept next to him.  Liam spent more hours than he’d care to admit just watching his sleeping prince.  He loved running his hands through Zayn’s hair until he awoke.  Inevitably, his boyfriend would tell him to ‘fuck off’ with a lazy smile on his face before pulling Liam in for a long, sweet kiss.  Liam noted that Zayn’s hair was starting to get longer again after the doctors had shaved it following the accident.  It was long enough now to cover the scar Zayn so loathed.    

Liam would have given both his kidneys to lay beside Zayn at that moment.  Now he understood the one thing he missed the most--just _being_ with Zayn.  The current state of affairs was pure torture.  Having to look but not touch.  Zayn feeling nothing towards him while Liam was consumed with guilt and unrequited feelings he’d never be able to quell.

Yes, Liam missed _being_ with Zayn.

It was a shame he realised it when it was too late.

 

*****

 

His last client, a regular, cancelled.  She was a rich housewife who flirted with him constantly, but at least she was a switch-up from the jarheads and middle-aged businessmen he normally was assigned.  Truth be told, Liam was anything but disappointed.  He was looking forward to getting home early, and although he hated to admit it to himself, he was looking forward to seeing Zayn.  Maybe they’d order in a pizza and watch Netflix.  There wasn’t any harm in that.  A quiet night in--that’s what they both needed.   

However, when he got home, all plans of a quiet evening were immediately dashed.  The telly was blasting, barely drowning out Niall’s obnoxious drunken laughter, and the flat looked a right mess.  Then he remembered--Zayn had said something yesterday about Harry and Niall coming over to watch some match on Sunday.  He sighed as he set his keys and bag down.  He wasn’t keen on seeing Niall so soon after what happened on Friday night, but he figured it was probably good to clear the air anyway.  And at least Harry and him were on decent terms again--well, as long as Zayn hadn’t mentioned what they had gotten up to on Friday night after Niall bolted out the door.  He’d have to have a chat with Zayn about that.

But as Liam approached the living room, he didn’t see any sign of Harry.  Niall was sat on the couch; Zayn, lying in his lap.  His flatmate’s eyes were hooded, and he was nursing a beer.

Liam cleared his throat.  “I thought Harry was gonna be over?”

Niall glanced up with a startled expression but then greeted Liam affably, Friday apparently all but forgotten--on his part anyway.  Liam hadn’t forgotten a bloody thing.  Liam patiently waited for an answer to his question, but they both seemed to have ignored it.  As a matter of fact, Zayn didn’t say a word, just saluted Liam and lay back on Niall’s lap.

Liam could feel his blood pressure rising.  “Where’s Harry?”

“He had to do some interviews,” Niall responded at last.  “The new girl he hired didn’t work out.”  The Irishman shoved more crisps into his mouth and kept his eyes peeled on the match.  One of the clubs--Liam couldn’t be bothered to even look who was playing--scored a goal and Niall hooted then ruffled Zayn’s hair.  

Liam waited for the hoopla of the goal celebration to die down before trying to speak again.  “Zayn?  What’s going on?”  

“Hmm? ‘m watching footy.  You need something?” he asked languidly, lifting his head up momentarily.  The effort proved to be too much, however, and he soon dropped it back into Niall’s lap.  

“Oi, mind the family jewels there,” Niall chuckled, readjusting himself as Zayn mumbled an incoherent apology.  “’S’alright.  Love ya, Z.”  Niall patted him on the head and Zayn smiled up at him.  

“Niall, are you getting him tanked?” he accused but Niall just laughed.  Liam surveyed the empty cans of beer scattered around the coffee table-- _his_ coffee table.

Liam was fuming.  Since when were Niall and Zayn this close?  Yeah, they were mates, but Niall had his bloody hands all over Zayn.  Liam didn’t care if they were flirting or fucking or whatever the hell they were doing when he wasn’t there.  He just wanted them to be upfront about it and for Niall to have the common decency to not shove it in his Goddamn face.  Liam didn’t think it was too much to ask under the circumstances.  He really didn’t.

He just had to know.  Now.

Liam cleared his throat.  “Is there something going on between you two?”

Zayn shot up and stared at him glassily.  “What the fuck’s got into you?  We’re just watching a match.”  

Out of the corner of his eye, Liam saw Niall disentangle himself from Zayn and softly pad away.  Liam would get to him in a minute, after he sorted Zayn out.  “You’re watching a match?” he sneered, hand on hip.  “You don’t even like football, Zayn.”

“That’s bullshit,” Zayn snapped, jumping to his feet.  If he was tired or buzzed before, he sure didn’t look it now.  “You think you know me better than I know myself but you don’t, mate.  My favourite memories as a kid were going up to Valley Park with me Grandad and cheering on the Bantams.  It was just hard watching it after he passed, okay?  I may forget things but I don't forget my feelings, like.”

Liam felt numb.   _But you forgot me._   _You forgot how you felt about me._  He wanted to scream it at the top of his lungs.

Niall looked visibly distressed as he stood between them in an almost mediator stance.  “Zayn, man--you want to calm down.  Liam’s only trying to help.”

“Look, he can help me out with facts or whatever, but he can’t tell me how I _feel_ about shit.  He can’t tell me what I like and don’t like because I’m still _me_.”  Zayn pushed Niall aside and got right in Liam’s face.  His eyes flashed with anger as he stuck out his index finger and belligerently jabbed it into Liam’s chest.  “I’m still fucking me, yeah?”

He was him.  He had made that clear enough.  Zayn said he knew his own emotions, but he didn’t feel anything around Liam, didn’t recognise him in the hospital even.  

“I got it,” Liam quavered, and he had.  He finally got it this time.  He got that Zayn felt nothing towards him--maybe never had.  It was time to accept it and move on.

Liam hobbled to his bedroom, the bedroom that still felt like _theirs._ It was awful, this feeling that he couldn’t escape Zayn, couldn’t escape the life they had together.  He could shut the door on the Zayn still ranting at Niall in the living room, but he couldn’t shut the door on the best chapter of his life.

Because no matter how much he, Louis, and Harry had tried to exorcise the ghost from these four walls, too much remained behind.  Maybe Zayn and the others couldn’t see it, but it was there all the same.  It was there:  hidden in drawers, wrapped in curtains, reflected in mirrors, exposed in chipped paint, and tucked away in books.  It was everywhere.   _Zayn_ was everywhere.

And it was killing him.

 

*****

 

When Liam awoke hours later, the hurt hadn’t gone away.

Zayn had never looked at him before with such hatred--not even that night when it all fell apart, not even in the aftermath.   Without a doubt, the anger in Zayn’s eyes today had been hard to take, but it was better than sadness.  It was better than pain.  It was better than watching the light slowly disappear from his lover’s eyes.

Liam knew that first hand.

He let his thoughts drift back to the failed proposal and the shitstorm that followed.  He’d have done anything to take that night back if he could, to erase the guilt from his own mind as efficiently as Liam’s betrayal had been wiped from Zayn’s.  Yes, Zayn didn’t deserve him.  He deserved much better than him.  

 

 

> _Standing on the pavement outside the restaurant, Liam peered through the window and saw Zayn still seated at the table where he had left him only moments ago.  A glance at his boyfriend’s body language told Liam he had no intention of running after him._
> 
> _It was then Liam spotted it:  the cool glint of polished titanium.  He had left the engagement ring on the table.  Of course he had._
> 
> _The last thing Liam was about to do was charge back in and get it though.  Besides, knowing Zayn, Liam would find the blasted thing sitting on the kitchen table when he returned to the flat._
> 
> _Or Zayn could bung it into the Thames.  Liam didn’t really care either way._
> 
> _He started walking.  He didn’t know where he was going, but he had to move.  He had to expel the negative energy brewing inside of him.  When it began to rain, he slipped into the nearest bar, a somewhat seedy place off the Old Brompton Road, and rang Louis.  Liam didn’t say much, didn’t have to really.  Louis understood.  His closest mate was there when he picked out the ring, when he had it engraved with the simple:  LP + ZM._
> 
> _His thoughts flashed back to Zayn.  He wondered if Zayn was still sitting in the restaurant, if he had examined the inside of the ring and found their initials carved inside.  Liam groaned and ordered a drink to chase his humiliation away while he waited for his friend._
> 
> _By the time Louis arrived, Liam had drained three shots and dismissed at least that many offers._
> 
> _“What the fuck happened?” Louis greeted him, sliding onto the stool next to him._
> 
> _Liam briefly explained but he didn’t want to go on about it in detail.  He didn’t want to relive how stupid he was for proposing in the first place or for blowing up like he did.  No, he just wanted to get right blottoed and forget the whole damn thing.  He ordered a gin and tonic, then washed it down with another shot._
> 
> _And then he saw him--the boy on the other side of the bar who looked the spitting image of Zayn. The boy gave him a come-hither stare, and Liam felt immediately drawn to him.  When Louis told him he needed to take a phone call outside, Liam seized the opportunity he’d been given.  As Liam got closer, he saw that the kid wasn’t a dead ringer for Zayn, as he thought.  Yes, his hair was styled into a similar quiff and he appeared to be of Pakistani descent, but the similarities ended there.  His eyes were wrong; his nose was wrong; his cologne was wrong; everything was bloody wrong._
> 
> _But it was close enough tonight._
> 
> _Because tonight he felt lost.  Tonight he was smashed.  Tonight he had discovered Zayn didn’t want him…but maybe this boy in front of him did._
> 
> _Somehow, they ended up snogging in the loo, him and Zayn’s doppelganger.  Liam’s trousers were puddled at his ankles, and the other boy’s hands were all over his dick.  Liam’s heart was pounding; he’d never done this in public before, and they weren’t even in a Goddamn stall.  The boy sank to his knees, and Liam braced himself…._
> 
> _“Jesus, Liam!” Louis cursed, his voice booming in the small space.  “What the fuck, man?!”_

 

Liam barely remembered being led out of the bar or throwing up in the back alley.  He did recall the disappointment in Louis’ eyes the next day however.  He’d never forget that.   

Liam confessed everything to Zayn two days later.  It was easily the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life.

And so now every time Liam wished they could get back together, he thought of the lifeless, vacant look in Zayn’s eyes when he learnt of Liam’s betrayal.  This whole thing--Zayn living with him--was just temporary anyway.  Sooner or later, Zayn would start to regain his memories.  Sooner or later, Zayn would hate him again.

In a strange way, Liam almost looked forward to it.

 


	7. Zayn

 

Zayn woke up feeling like crap.  And for once, it had little to do with any of his injuries.

He figured it was just the aftereffects of the beer but there was something that tasted even more bitter on his tongue:   _regret_.

He really wished he hadn’t jumped down Liam’s throat like that.  He didn’t know why, but every once in a while he acted sort of crazy when he was around Liam.  Take Friday night for instance.  He had actually let Liam blow him.  And then on Sunday he was screaming at the lad because he what?  Said Zayn didn’t like football?  Insinuated that Niall and him were having it off?

No, he was upset because Liam had suggested Zayn didn’t know his own mind.  But what really touched a nerve was that it wasn’t all rubbish.  Yes, Zayn knew his likes and preferences for the most part.  He would get a gut reaction to things whether he remembered them or not.  But sometimes he couldn’t completely read the signs.  It was that way with Liam.  But it was even trickier when he tried to decipher how Liam felt about him.  

Sometimes Zayn was sure that Liam barely tolerated him but then the other lad would do something to change his mind.  He’d go out of his way to do something kind or thoughtful and then Zayn would just get confused all over again.  Yesterday, Zayn had actually caught Liam watching him with an almost fond expression on his face while he thought Zayn was sleeping.  It wasn’t the first time either.

Fuck, his head hurt too much to think anymore.

He tried to fall back asleep but found himself stuck in the twilight.  That’s when he felt it.  This time it was a press, a heaviness that came over him.  It was accompanied by the familiar tinge in his temples.  Zayn recognised the reel playing in his head as soon as it began.  It was the one from Friday night.  Liam had interrupted the playback then, but now there were no interruptions.  He let the picture wash over him without reservation.

 

 

> _Zayn raced up the stairs to the flat, two at a time.  He’d been at a conference all day and couldn’t wait to get home.  Just as he gripped the gold knob, however, something stopped him dead in his tracks.  He slid down to the floor and hugged his knees to his chest.  He felt so very alone._
> 
> _But then Liam came and sat beside him.  Suddenly it didn’t feel as cold as it had before._
> 
> _Liam asked him to go inside but he couldn’t.  He wasn’t ready.  He was scared and wasn’t ready.  He wished Liam would understand._
> 
> _Zayn tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come.  His tongue felt as if it were made of rubber._
> 
> _Then Liam’s eyes grew dark, and Zayn’s heart began to pound in his chest.  Anticipation burned like incense.  Liam licked his lips.  Zayn edged in closer._
> 
> _“There’s something I should tell you,” Liam wavered, voice faltering, “something you should know.”_
> 
> _Zayn peered back at him, but Liam had turned away.  He had a fixed stare, and Zayn saw that Liam’s hands were clamped tight to something…a steering wheel.  They were riding in a car--Zayn’s car.  There was a long road stretched out before them._
> 
> _Liam stepped on the pedal and Zayn’s heart began to race.  Night had fallen, and it was becoming darker by the second.  Zayn couldn’t see a way forward.  Then, the interior was flooded with light from headlamps.  Liam’s eyes flashed wildly as he looked over at Zayn in the passenger seat.  Eyes locked, Liam slowly lifted his hands from the steering wheel…._

 

Zayn didn’t think he would ever stop shaking.

 

*****

 

The tea shop appeared dark behind closed shades when Zayn rang the bell.  Harry answered it swiftly, wearing an easy smile along with his candy-striped apron.  It was evening now and Harry was closing up early as he did every Monday.

“Good to see you getting out more,” Harry greeted him with a half hug.  He had a dish towel in his hand and a couple of curls plastered to his forehead.  “Just finishing up in here.”

“You alone?”

“Yeah, why don’t you have a seat?”  He switched on another light and motioned to the dozen or so chairs stacked on tables around the overcrowded but cosy space.  “I’ll join you in a minute.  Fancy a cuppa?”

“Yeah, actually.  I’ll get it myself though.  You do what you need to do and let me know if you need help.”

Harry touched Zayn’s arm gently.  His green eyes shone with emotion.  “Good to know you’re feeling better--you _are_ feeling better aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I am.  I’ve been doing some practice exercises with me right hand trying to build up strength and all.  I came by because….”  Zayn hesitated.  He didn’t like asking for help with these things--even when it was his best mate.  “Well, I was hoping you could help me get my head sorted.”

Harry flashed an impish smile.  “Well then, put the kettle on because this sounds like a full pot problem.”  

Soon Harry was sat across from Zayn, folding his hands and crooking his head in that way of his.  Harry was a great listener, and it made Zayn almost feel better just by recounting the nightmarish vision, getting it all off his chest.  Harry always made one feel like what they were saying was the most important thing in the world to him at that moment.  He had a gift that way.

“Well,” Harry began, licking his lips when Zayn had finished, “that was…wild.”

Zayn felt empty.  He needed more than that from his best mate to refill what the nightmare had taken from him.  Much more.  “I know…but what do you think it means, Haz?”

“What do _you_ think it means?”  

Zayn felt frustrated.  He hadn’t come here for that, for some shitty deflection or exercise in self-analysis.  If he could’ve figured out what it meant on his own, he wouldn’t be here right now.   “I don’t know, Haz,” he replied through clenched teeth, “but that was kind of the bloody point of why I came here.”

Harry nodded slowly as if this were somehow news to him.  “I see.  You want my help in interpreting the dream you had?”

“I told you--it wasn’t a dream.  It was more like a memory…with some crazy shit thrown in.”  Zayn scratched his head, recoiling as he felt the scar from the accident.  “It has to mean something, like.  Doesn’t it?”

“I mean…I guess, yeah.”  It was a begrudging answer at best.  Zayn watched as Harry kept fiddling with the heavy rings on his fingers.  “Why don’t you ask a therapist?” Harry suggested at last.  “Didn’t they recommend you see someone anyway?”

“Look, if you don’t want to help--”

“No, it’s not that,” Harry insisted.  Zayn was about to ask what it was then when Harry started talking like he’d just been offered a plea deal and the clock was ticking.  “Maybe it means that Liam was trying to force you in a direction you didn’t want to go.  You trusted him but he betrayed your trust, and…and that’s all I got.”

Zayn stared back at him.  He could tell Harry had more to say, but he was holding back.  “Well, that’s vague as fuck.  I’ve gotten more specifics from a fortune cookie.  I was hoping for a little more than that, Haz.”

“You want the truth, Zayn?” Harry retorted.  “It doesn’t mean anything.  It’s just your subconscious playing tricks on you.  It’s just a bunch of gobshite.  That’s it.”  It wasn’t convincing though.  Even Harry knew it.  Zayn could tell by the way uncertainty furrowed his brow.  “You didn’t,” Harry began again, licking his lips, “I mean…you haven’t remembered anything else have you?”

“No, nothing concrete.”  Zayn thought Harry looked relieved for a second, but he must have misread it.  Of course he did.

“Yeah, the doctors said it might take several months or even a year before all your memories come back,” Harry declared, informing Zayn of something he knew bloody well.  “By the way…what did you mean when you said ‘nothing concrete?’”

“I don’t know…sometimes I _feel_ things.”  Zayn laced his fingers together.  He could tell that Harry wasn’t a big fan of Liam’s for some reason although they got on well enough.  He wondered if he should say it, wondered if it would just make him sound completely foolish.

He decided to go for it.  “Sometimes I feel like there’s something between Liam and I, something beyond friendship.”  

Harry hitched an eyebrow but didn’t say anything for a long time.  He ran his hand through his hair and Zayn studied him closely, waiting for a sign that his suspicions were founded in some basis of fact.  “You mean you’re attracted to Liam or something?  You keep telling me how awkward it is between you two.”

“It is, but I’m wondering if it’s because maybe there was something more between us…like before the accident.”  Zayn watched Harry carefully, but he had a complete poker face.

“Aren’t you straight?”

“Thought I was,” Zayn admitted.  “But now I’m not so sure.  There have been times when I’m with Liam and--”  

“Bloody hell, I knew it,” Harry cut in, scrunching his eyes closed.  “You’ve been messing about with your flatmate.”

“No--okay maybe once.  Why are you so cross, Haz?  I thought you’d be more supportive.  I mean, I just fucking told you I might be gay.”

Harry seemed annoyed.  “What, you don’t know?” he challenged, his eyes narrowing.  Zayn’s breath caught in his throat.  He felt foolish, felt like he may have said something insensitive.  

Harry gave a drawn-out sigh and smiled weakly at him.  “No…that was unfair.  I’m sorry, Z.  You’re going through a lot right now, and you probably weren’t expecting confusion over your sexuality on top of everything else.”  Harry drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly.  “I’m just pissed at Liam; I didn’t mean to take it out on you.”

“It was me, Haz.  Don’t blame Liam.  I was the one who asked for…for the favour.  It’s a long story.  Friday night was a fucking mess.”

“Friday?” Harry snorted.  “What a coincidence.  It’s amazing how some people can’t even keep a bloody promise for 24 hours.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind…go on.  Tell me what happened.”    

Zayn cleared his throat.  “So I went out with Niall and Louis, and I got pretty smashed--”

“Wow, didn’t think this story could get any worse.  Sorry, go ahead,” he allowed, biting his lip.

“Anyway, I brought--this is embarrassing--a girl home with me.”  Harry’s eyes bugged out at this, but Zayn carried on.  “So there was an argument and, well--”

“Let me guess…Liam did you a ‘favour’?”  

“Bang on, mate.”

“And so now, all of a sudden, you think you’ve caught feelings for your flatmate,” Harry concluded, leaning back in his chair.

“It sounds naff when you put it like that.”

“Ever hear of something called Lazarus syndrome?”  It sounded vaguely familiar but Zayn shook his head anyway.  “It’s when a patient develops feelings for their doctor--or caretaker in this circumstance.”

Zayn wondered if that was the source of his confused emotions.  It was a possibility.  “Okay, but I still don’t see why you’re so put out.”

“Like I said--I’m not really upset with you.  It’s Liam.  He’s supposed to be taking care of you, not taking advantage of you, Z.  It bothers me because I don’t want to see you get hurt.”  Harry’s green eyes were a tropical storm.  “Why don’t you get out of there and stay with me instead?  I’ve plenty of room here above the tea shop.  It’ll be like old times.”

“Thanks for the offer, Haz, but I really think I should stay in my own flat, try to get things sorted, you know.”  Zayn rose from the table and made his way towards the door of the tea shop.  Once there, he paused.  This was his chance.  He had been skirting around the issue but now it was time to be more direct.  “So, do you know if there was anything between Liam and me…before the accident, I mean?”

Harry’s lips pressed into a thin line.  It took an eternity for him to answer.  “You’d have to talk to Liam about that.  It’s not my place to say.”

“Haz, I need to know,” he begged.  “No one else is telling me shit--least of all Liam.  I don’t want to go to anyone else if this all turns out to be that Lazarus Syndrome thing you were talking about or just my mind playing tricks on me.  I don’t want to look an idiot for nothing.”

Harry stared at him for what seemed like ages.  There was an intensity in his gaze that almost scared Zayn.  It was so unlike Harry.  “Z., you should just let sleeping dogs lie,” Harry recommended as a familiar tinkling of bells accompanied the opening of the shop door.  “Maybe that dream you had was a warning.  Maybe there was a bloody good reason you went to Bradford before the crash.”  Harry’s words were like a red wine stain on a white tablecloth.  “I love you, Z., but that’s all I’m going to say.”

Zayn felt empty.  He wanted his memories back.  He wanted his fucking _life_ back.  But now, he understood he couldn’t get the answers he wanted from anyone else.  Not really.

“Here, let’s go ‘round the back,” Harry suggested, guiding him gently into the cool September night.  “I’ll drive you home.”

 

*****

 

Zayn spent the next week exploring his feelings, trying them on for size.

Liam wasn’t much help.  If anything, he seemed to be more distant than usual.  At least they were able to clear the air after the argument they’d had.  Liam even brought up what happened on Friday night.  He apologised for “overstepping a boundary,” promising that it would “never happen again.”  Liam didn’t leave any room for discussion on the matter (not that Zayn would have been able to find the right words anyway), and that was that.

Still, Zayn was determined to unravel the tangled skein.  It was tough-going though.  Every time Zayn attempted to get close to the other boy, to initiate a conversation more than an inch deep, he’d clam up.  Zayn felt sure Liam was holding back--holding back even more than Harry had done.

But as the coppery autumn leaves began to fall in Hampstead Heath, Zayn gave up trying.  To be accurate, he had just stopped _striving_.  He stopped putting pressure on himself to make sense of everything, to remember, and to read into every minute action of his flatmate.  

Oddly, things improved once again in the small Islington flat.  They had improved so much, in fact, that Liam and Zayn now began to spend more time together.  In any case, Liam didn’t seem to purposely avoid him at every turn.  Zayn saw why they had become mates in the first place; Liam was a solid lad.  He felt like an idiot, though, for thinking there was anything more than that between them.  Perhaps Harry was right about that Lazarus thing.  Perhaps Zayn had mistaken gratitude for something else.    

And then, in the blink of an eye, everything changed.

Liam was sat next to him on the couch, and they both had let loose although Liam made sure Zayn didn’t overdo it just yet.  They were watching some shit film and Liam was laughing with abandon.  Slightly buzzed and half asleep, Zayn regarded the boy next to him.  He was struck by the way his flatmate’s sweet eyes with that soft look contrasted so sharply with his classic masculinity.  He liked this Liam a lot, the one who wasn’t so tense and guarded.  This Liam was beaming back at him like he didn’t have a care in the world, like Zayn _was_ his world.  

…Which he wasn’t of course.  

Despite Zayn’s perpetual drowsiness, Liam fell asleep first.  Zayn cuddled closer to him, basking in the clean smell of Liam’s flannel.  Maybe it was the detergent Liam used, but it seemed so familiar to him, that scent.  He wanted to keep breathing it in until he was drunk with it.  When the credits rolled, Zayn switched the telly off but didn’t budge.  He just lay there, warm and content and curled into Liam’s side.   

Quite by accident, his hand brushed against something hard.  He opened his eyes to see a bulge forming in Liam’s trousers.  Zayn reached out curiously, stroking it with a finger.  Liam moaned softly in his sleep, and Zayn felt his own dick twitch.  He moved up on the couch, adjusting himself so that his lower body rested fully on Liam’s.  Then, he began lightly rutting against the boy underneath him, relishing the friction created with every movement.  

After a while, he became bolder and recklessly quickened the pace.   He hissed as their cocks caught, his fingernails digging into the arm of the couch as he struggled to stop himself from jerking his hips forward.  Liam stirred then and so Zayn did the only thing he could think of:  he kissed him.

To his utter astonishment, Liam kissed him back… _hard_.

And that’s when he felt it.  This time it was a lightness.  A spark.  The feeling was so overwhelming that Zayn almost forgot about everything else until Liam’s hands gripped his ass, and he felt their clothed cocks slot together.  He could tell Liam was close and he wanted to bring him closer.  Zayn slid a hand between them and cupped Liam’s straining bulge.

“Fuck, you’re huge,” he panted.  It was so dirty, so unlike him.  But fuck, was it true.

Liam shivered at Zayn’s words and began bucking up into his hand.  Zayn covered Liam’s lips with his again and was rewarded with that same rush.  He was fucking soaring now.

“Oh babe…,” Liam moaned into Zayn’s mouth as he came.  Zayn pulled at Liam’s bottom lip with his teeth even as the other boy fell apart beneath him.  He wanted to taste him for as long as he could, wanted this feeling to last forever.  Finally, Liam looked up at him with blissed-out eyes, and all Zayn could think about was kissing him again.  Zayn longed to kiss Liam until his lips were raw, until he, too, was drunk with that indescribable lightness.  

But then, Liam’s expression altered.  Before Zayn could react, Liam had sprung off the couch, shoving Zayn off in the process.  He then began stamping around the room in a blind fury as Zayn cowered beneath him.

“Shit!” Liam cursed, pulling at his hair.  “Shit, shit, shit!”

Zayn was distraught.  He hadn’t meant for that to happen.  At first, he had just wanted to make Liam feel good, just as Liam had done for him.  And then when he kissed Liam…well, surely, Liam felt it, too.  It couldn’t have been purely one-sided, could it?  It couldn’t have been just--

“Don’t ever pull that shit again!” Liam spat out, red-faced and shaking with rage.  

“I’m sorry,” he choked out.  Zayn could barely breathe he felt so ashamed.

Liam didn’t seem to notice.  “Just because I’m gay and I’m your flatmate doesn’t mean you have a licence to do that.  Is that bloody clear?”

“Yes, I d-didn’t mean--”

“I’ve got feelings as well,” Liam shouted, cutting off Zayn’s weak protestations.  “You don’t have the monopoly on that.  I’m not here as a means for you to explore your sexuality or whatever the fuck that was about.  I’m not some conquest either.  I’m a human being, Zayn.  I’m a fucking human being and _that_ ….”  Liam’s voice broke as anger transformed into anguish, and Zayn felt sick inside.  “That was not okay.”  

Liam barricaded himself in his bedroom then, and Zayn limped numbly towards his own room.  He took one look around, however, and changed his mind.  He’d had enough.  He had tried; no one could say he hadn’t given it a real go, but now it was time to stop pretending.  That room was never going to feel like his, this flat would never feel like home, and he wasn’t helping anyone by staying.  

And so he scratched out an apology, thanking Liam for all his help during his recovery.  He jotted out a few other details about rent and such before placing it in plain view on the kitchen table.

Then he called Harry.

 

*****

 

It didn’t take long for Zayn to settle in at Harry’s, but then again, everything was easier now.  The red door leading to the first floor flat was familiar.  The tea shop below where Zayn had worked for Harry’s aunt in his uni days was also familiar.  Harry, himself, was familiar and predictable, a brilliant constant in Zayn’s upturned life.  Where Liam--and his feelings towards Liam--burned hot and cold, Harry was warm.  Always.  And it was a tremendous relief to no longer be living with an enigma.  

Zayn should’ve been happy.  He would’ve been if it weren’t for the constant gnawing that he’d lost a part of himself he’d never get back.

Three years--over a thousand days-- _gone_.  It weighed on him, the absence of those years.  Every once in a while there would be a flash of something, but it was usually just a dissociated glimpse of what could have been a dream, an actual event, or something inbetween.  Still, his heart felt heavy with loss.  Ironically, it had only gotten worse since he left the flat he shared with Liam, but he couldn’t work out why.

He should’ve been happy.  He _really_ should’ve been happy.

Harry had suggested he start drawing again, as a form of therapy, and so he did.  It was difficult and discouraging at first, building up stamina in the muscles of his right hand, but it took his mind off everything like nothing else.  Zayn also assisted in the shop when it would get busy in the late afternoons and lent a hand when Harry or Niall closed up in the evenings.  He hadn’t heard much of Liam even though he saw Louis quite regularly.  Louis would stop by daily on his way to the training grounds, and Harry inevitably had his Yorkshire tea with milk and two sugars waiting for him.  Sometimes Louis would mention Liam in passing, and his eyes would turn the saddest shade of blue.   

Yes, his days were full again.  He liked it better that way.  It left him less time to think about things he didn’t understand.

 

*****

 

“I almost forgot to tell you,” Harry announced excitedly when the tea shop was finally empty.  He was stood at the till, reorganising it after a particularly heavy afternoon rush.  Flashes of purple, green, and orange reminded Zayn that eventually he’d need to do something about his own job situation.  “The strangest thing happened yesterday.  A woman complimented one of your sketches--”

“What’s so strange about that?” Zayn cracked, ducking as Harry whipped a newspaper at him.  

Lately, Harry had taken to framing some of Zayn’s recent drawings and bunging them up on the wall of the tea shop.  Zayn had pretended to be annoyed when Harry first showed him what he’d done, but secretly he was quite chuffed.  

“As I was saying,” Harry resumed, “this woman came in yesterday while you were out.  She was a first time customer, I think.  I’ve never seen her before although Niall usually works on Thursday nights so--”

“I hope this story has a point,” Zayn interrupted.  “It makes it so much more interesting for the listener, like.”

“Ah, piss off,” Harry shot back good-naturedly, slamming the till drawer with a swing of his hips.  “Yeah, so she ordered that new single-estate Darjeeling--no, maybe it was the rosehip lemongrass green.  Shit, I can’t remember now.”  Harry’s boot tapped on the wood floors, and he rubbed the scruff on his chin thoughtfully.

“Is it important?” Zayn yawned, clearing a table.  

Harry’s eyes widened.  “’Course it’s bloody important.  It’s _tea_ , for God’s sakes.”

“No, I didn’t mean…fuck, never mind.”  Zayn shook his head.  It was useless arguing with the owner of Styles Tea Shop about that subject.  “Go on with your story, Haz.”

“So she was admiring your artistic skills.  She quite fancied the lotus one, kept ogling at it like she was in a gallery, you know?  She asked where I’d gotten it from, and I told her it was done by a mate of mine who was a proper artist.”

“ _Used to be_ a proper artist, you mean,” Zayn corrected sourly.  He hadn’t had a paying job for months now--not that he’d submitted anything, mind you.

Harry eyed him with annoyance.  “I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.  Anyway, she kept asking about you so I finally let slip you mucked about in the shop.  I think she might want to buy that one off you.  Shame,” Harry sighed, staring dolefully at the piece in question, “it looks so lovely on my wall.”  

A couple of customers sauntered in then.  While Harry attended to them, Zayn examined the lotus drawing they had just been discussing.  Zayn was also quite fond of it.  He wasn’t one to draw things like flowers and such, but he felt almost compelled to draw this design the moment the idea entered his head.  Besides, he had always loved the symbolism of the lotus, how something so pure and beautiful could thrive in the shittiest of surroundings.

“Hey,” Zayn reminded his friend when the couple had left, “you never told me why you needed me to mind the shop tonight.”  

“You can still do it, yeah?” Harry asked anxiously, a line creasing his forehead.  “Niall’s the normal closer, but he had a gig and everyone else either worked this morning or else requested the night off.”

“Listen, it’s no bother at all.  I was just curious, that’s all.”

“Okay, so Louis rang me up earlier, and I thought it was going to be just the usual banter and all, but it wasn’t,” Harry gushed, cheeks flushed.  “You’ll never believe what he asked me.”

Zayn touched his fingers to his temples and screwed his eyes shut.  “Something’s coming to me…wait, I’ve got it!”  He snapped his fingers and popped his eyes open.  “He asked you out.”

“Yeah but how did you…?” Harry questioned, his eyebrows knitted together like a confused kitten.  

Zayn had to bite back a laugh.  “So where you two going?”

“Someone at the club gave him killer tickets for this evening’s performance of that new West End play.  He asked if I fancied dinner and a show tonight.”

“Hope you have a good time, Haz.  He’s one lucky bastard.”

“Not yet,” Harry winked, dimples on full display, “but the night is young and you never know.”  

Zayn snorted.  “I never knew you were such a slag, Haz.  Go get ready though,” he encouraged, glancing at the clock.  “It’s getting late.”  

“Since when have you ever cared a toss for being on time?” Harry ribbed, rearranging a few biscuit tins on the shelf.  “If it weren’t for Liam, you’d never…I mean uh….”  He rubbed his neck nervously, and Zayn wished he knew what was causing Harry’s discomfort.  He put it down to first date jitters and Harry’s accidental mention of Liam’s name--naturally, a taboo subject now.

“Enough,” Zayn shushed, pushing Harry upstairs.  “Go get changed.”  

When Harry came down a half hour later, he studied his reflection in the shop window, smoothing out the silk shirt with the loud paisley pattern underneath his blazer.  It wasn’t Zayn’s taste, but he had to admit it suited Harry.  He looked a million pounds sterling, actually.  

“You sure you don’t mind closing up?” Harry checked, glancing about the shop as if he were searching for an excuse to stay.  “I could always skip dinner with Louis and just go straight to the show.  I’m sure he’d understand.”

“No, it’s no bother at all,” Zayn reassured him.  “Have a sick time, mate.  I got it covered.”

Zayn managed to push Harry out the door before he could repeat his last-minute instructions for the fourth time.  The next hour flew by as a steady stream of customers filtered in.  Shortly after, the traffic began to peter out until a middle-aged woman with blonde hair and kind eyes wandered in just before close.  

“Are you Zayn?” she inquired in a thick scouse accent.

Zayn immediately tensed up, afraid she might be one of the shadowy figures hiding in his missing three years, someone he was supposed to know.  “I’m sorry--do I know you?” he faltered.  He never knew what to say in these situations.

“You _are_ Zayn, aren’t you?” she breathed, her face lighting up with a mixture of triumph and relief.  “Oh, you must think I’m barmy or something,” she tittered as Zayn studied her curiously without saying a word.  “I came in yesterday and this nice young man--Harry, I believe it was--told me your name.  He suggested I come ‘round another time, and I might find you here.  And well, here you are!” she exclaimed, rubbing her hands together delightedly.  “I just knew you were Zayn as soon as I saw you.  You have the artist look about you, don’t you, love?”

Zayn wasn’t sure how to respond to this and was even less sure what the woman was after.  He half-wondered if she were a harmless crackpot before he remembered what Harry had told him earlier about some lady who liked his lotus drawing.

“Oh, sorry,” he said, a bit flustered.  “Yes, um, Harry said you were interested in one of my drawings, I think?”

“Yes, my name is Claire, Claire Cartwright.  I actually wanted to ask you something.”  She seemed apprehensive suddenly, and it increased the anxiety Zayn already felt.  “Do you…do you know anyone named Liam?”

Zayn froze.  He wasn’t sure what he was expecting but it sure as hell wasn’t that.  He realised the woman--Claire--was staring at him expectantly so he pulled himself together.

“Um…yeah, I do actually.”  

“Ah, brilliant!  I think I have something that belongs to you then.”  She reached into her purse and proudly slapped an oversized envelope on the counter.  It was white with a few smudge marks at the corners.  ‘ _Liam,’_ was written across the seal, and Zayn gasped when he recognised the handwriting as his own.  He stared up at the woman dumbfounded.

Claire’s eyes were shining excitedly.  “It _is_ yours, isn’t it?”

“It’s my handwriting,” Zayn confirmed, “but I’m afraid I’m at a loss as to how you knew it was mine….”  

“Oh, you must have forgotten what you drew.  After all, it was months ago, wasn’t it?”  She flipped the envelope over, and Zayn wished he’d been sitting down because his knees buckled as soon as he saw it:  a drawing of a lotus.  It was an exact duplicate, in smaller scale, to the one hanging on the wall of the tea shop.  As soon as he regained his balance, he stumbled over to the nearest table and collapsed into a chair.

“My goodness, I didn’t mean to upset you!” Claire tutted, wringing her hands.  “Are you alright, love?  Can I get you something?”

“I’m fine,” Zayn mumbled.  He wasn’t though.  Not even close.

“Heavens, you gave me quite a scare there,” she confessed, fetching the envelope from the counter and taking a seat opposite him.  “You turned as white as a sheet.”

Zayn tried to steady himself.  He needed answers.  “Where…where did you find it?”

“My youngest found it actually,” Claire explained, “back in June.  We live close to the motorway, you see, and she’s always finding things and bringing them back.  ‘Treasures,’ she calls them.”  Claire laughed fondly.  “Anyway, I thought it might be something important because of the drawing on the front so I kept it and asked around the neighbourhood.  Nobody claimed it.  I even put an advertisement in the Times a few months ago.  My husband thought I was mad, but I had this romantic idea that this envelope came to me for a reason and that I was supposed to find the owner.  Silly, isn’t it?

“Well,” she continued, “you can imagine how surprised I was when I happened to stop in here yesterday after work and saw the same lotus hanging on the wall!  It’s such a gorgeous drawing.  I identified it at once.”

“That’s…unbelievable.”

“Yes, and from your reaction, I can guess how much it means to you to have it back.  It _is_ important, isn’t it?”  Her words were hopeful and Zayn could only imagine her reaction if he told her the truth, that he had no bloody clue what was inside that envelope.

“It’s massively important,” he fibbed although it didn’t seem like a lie really.  After all, he agreed with this fated stranger.  The envelope must have found its way back to him for a purpose.  “I wish there was some way I could thank you….”  He scanned around, and his eyes fell upon the lotus drawing.  He crossed the shop in three strides and deftly removed the frame from the wall.  “Please take this,” he urged before the woman could protest.  “It would mean a lot to me.”

A few minutes later, after Claire had hugged him and left with the frame tucked under her arm, Zayn realised it was now past closing time.  He hurriedly locked up and finished cleaning.  When he had completed the necessary chores, he went back to where he had left the envelope.  He felt a surge of adrenaline pulse through him as he carefully slit the top and removed a letter in his own handwriting.  He read it once…twice…three times.  He read it so many times, he was sure the contents had been seared into his soul.

When Harry returned hours later, glowing from his date with Louis, Zayn was still sat at the same table, the letter unfolded in front of him.   

“Where’s the lotus?” Harry asked, noticing the empty space on the wall straight off.  “Don’t tell me you sold it!  I’d be completely gutted if you did.  Please don’t tell me it’s gone, Z.”

Zayn didn’t even know where to begin.

 


	8. Liam

 

Liam was tired.

He was tired of working at the gym; tired of how empty the flat felt; tired of the way each day ran into the next.  He was _really_ tired of that.  When his alarm rang each morning, it reminded him of the carriage return bell on his grandad’s old typewriter, the one his mum had given him to tinker around with when his hands were too restless.  He would peck out random letters to fill a line and then the bell would sound, and he’d start anew on the next line.  The whole process was meaningless, monotonous, automatic.  But he’d plod through anyway because at least his hands were busy, at least he could lie to himself that he had accomplished something when he got to the end of the line or page.

…Or the end of the day or month.

But then something happened to disrupt the comforting blanket of monotony he had wrapped himself in:  Zayn called.

Of course Liam didn’t answer.  He didn’t even listen to Zayn’s voice message because he knew it would just be adding salt to the wound.  Zayn called again the next day and the day after that.  Liam briefly considered picking up on the third day, wondering if Zayn needed his help in some way.  Then, he reasoned that Louis would have told him if there was an emergency.  Besides, Harry was there.  Harry was always there for Zayn.  It made him feel better somehow.

Liam began receiving multiple calls from his ex-boyfriend daily, and with each passing day, they became easier to ignore.  Soon, he had built up a resistance he once thought impossible.  So when the texts started coming in, Liam barely felt anything at all, just deleted them sight unseen.

He received another one as he was about to board the train home after a particularly taxing day at the gym.  He shifted his gym bag onto his other shoulder as he swiped left.  The extra precious seconds had caused him to lose a seat on the crowded early evening train, and he grumbled to himself as he grabbed a pole and braced himself for a long ride home.  He set the bag at his feet, wrapping a strap around one leg.  He’d learned his lesson after someone had nicked his last bag (with his best trainers inside).  

Liam felt his phone vibrate again as he exited the platform at Holloway Road.  When he reached street level, he saw that daylight was quickly fading into dusk.  He took a moment to check his phone, but when he saw it was just another missed call from Zayn, he quickly pocketed the device.  Feeling the chill in the air, he pulled his jacket closed with one hand and pushed his way through the throng of shoppers and pleasure-seekers.  Normally, he loved the hustle and bustle but not today.  Today, he just wanted to get home.

Liam breathed a sigh of relief when he was able to shut the door on the street behind him.  He was just taking a moment to gather himself when a shadowy figure accosted him.  His heart began racing as he prepared to defend himself from the stranger.

“Liam?”

“Fucking hell, Zayn,” Liam complained, the adrenaline still pumping through his body.  “I thought you were gonna mug me or something.”  He half-believed he would have preferred to have met a mugger in the dark entryway.

“Sorry,” Zayn mumbled almost incoherently, looking up at him shyly through those eyelashes that went on for days.  The faint light above fell on Zayn in a way that made them look even longer.  He looked stunning in that light.  Fuck, he looked stunning in every light.

Zayn spoke again, and Liam drank in every syllable.  “Didn’t mean to scare you, but I didn’t know how else to go about this, like.”

“I don’t know…you could have knocked on my door.  You know, like a normal human being?”

“You wouldn’t have answered,” Zayn returned flatly.  

Liam had to admit it was a fair point.  “Why are you here, Zayn?  Did you need something?”

“You didn’t answer my texts or calls, Liam.  I-I need to talk to you.  It’s important.”  Zayn stepped closer into the centre of the pool of light.  His beauty took Liam’s breath away as it always did.  He looked stronger, healthier now, and it made Liam’s heart nearly burst.

Liam struggled to maintain his composure.  “What do you want then?  I don’t have a lot of time.”  Zayn’s face fell, and it felt like a stab in the chest.  The sooner Liam could get Zayn out of here, the better.  “No, I just need to pack, that’s all,” Liam clarified, being careful not to soften his tone.  “I’m moving out next week when the lease is up.  I asked Louis to say something, but I’m guessing he forgot to mention it.”  Liam pushed on, trying to ignore the look in Zayn’s eyes as he did so.  “You see, I can’t afford this place on my own, and I’m not going to ask you to pay rent for another month when you’re not even living here.  It isn’t right.”

“Where are you going?”

“Louis’ for now.  We’ll see after that.  So what is it you wanted to talk to me about then?”

“They came back,” Zayn said bluntly.  Liam’s head was buzzing as Zayn went on.  “My memories came back--well not all of them, of course.  But I remember us.  I remember being with you, Liam.”

Liam felt himself stagger backwards.  His bag fell to the floor with a thump that echoed up the stairwell.  “I can’t talk about this right now,” Liam croaked, closing his eyes as he leaned against the door.  “You should go.”

“Let me help you up to the flat first,” Zayn insisted.  “You look like you could use a lie down.”  Zayn reached out towards him and Liam dodged away from the contact.

“I can’t do this right now, Zayn,” Liam reiterated as he moved past Zayn and began to ascend the stairs.  It wasn’t long before he heard a pair of boots scampering up after him.  He charged up the last flight but Zayn was right behind him.

“I’m just asking for you to listen to me for like--”

“Fine!” Liam exploded.  He whipped open the door to the flat, and invited Zayn in with an exaggerated gesture.  “Come in then.  I mean, it’s still technically your flat as well so I guess I can’t stop you from entering.”

Zayn stepped past him, and Liam was reminded of how good he always smelled.  Today, Zayn’s cologne was almost making him light-headed, reminding him of things he shouldn’t be thinking of at the present moment.

Zayn surveyed the flat before taking a seat at the kitchen table, no doubt noting the stacks of moving boxes everywhere.  Somehow, it was still awkward even though Liam had already mentioned the fact he was moving.

Liam cleared his throat.  “You’re welcome to have a look inside the boxes, but I think I gave Louis the last of your things weeks ago.  I was going to ask if you wanted the coffeemaker since it’s technically yours, but I figure you probably had all that at Harry’s.  I could give you a few quid for it, of course, when I get paid on--”

“I don’t give two fucks about the bloody coffeemaker, Liam.”

Liam realised he’d been prattling on, a thing he always did when he was nervous.  As he contemplated his next move, Liam found himself staring at the boy in front of him.  He noticed how Zayn’s leather jacket was now hanging on the back of his chair, revealing a claret jumper Liam hadn’t seen before.  He couldn’t help but note how the new jumper complemented Zayn’s skin tone and wide shoulders.  It had a low neck and Zayn’s collarbone peeped out, showcasing his massive chest tattoo.  The inked wing to Liam’s left was cut in half by a scar still so deep, Liam doubted whether it would ever go away.

“It’s wicked, yeah?” Zayn asked, tugging down on his collar to reveal the scar in full.  “To be honest, I hated it at first.  Covered it up at every opportunity, but now...now I quite fancy it.  Louis says it makes me look hard.  What do you think?”

Liam snapped his eyes up to meet Zayn’s gaze.  The other boy had a small smirk on his face that told him he’d been caught staring.  Soon, the smirk faded and was replaced with a pensive look that Liam knew all too well.

“Listen, we need to talk.”

Liam was about to respond when his eyes fell on the unsealed box a few feet from Zayn’s feet.  It was white and didn’t match the rest of the boxes around the flat because it had been packed months earlier when Zayn was still in hospital.  After Zayn moved in with Harry, Liam had foolishly brought it back into the flat despite Louis’ warning that he would only be torturing himself by keeping it around.  Louis had suggested he take it up to Wolverhampton, but Liam couldn’t bring himself to part with it again.

Even from where he was standing, Liam could see the corner of a wooden frame peeking out.  Last night, he had indulged himself in an unhealthy nostalgia.  He had let the melancholy consume him, rifling through photographs, cards, and doodles Zayn had given him.  When he was done, Liam had added the silver Batman keychain to the collection because he couldn’t look at it anymore without his heart feeling heavy, without thinking of Zayn.

And now Zayn was here, claiming he remembered _them_.  But Liam knew if Zayn had truly remembered everything, had remembered the way Liam had hurt him, he wouldn’t be sitting here now.  He would be back at Harry’s or up in Bradford like he was before the accident and before he had forgotten how Liam had betrayed him.  If Zayn remembered everything, he would have remembered how Liam wasn’t good enough for him.  He would have remembered turning down Liam’s marriage proposal because deep down, Zayn knew that Liam wasn’t the one.

“Look,” Liam started, pushing back the tide of emotions threatening to swell up at any moment, “I get that your memories are coming back.  There’s probably loads of questions you want answered, but I’m not up to having that conversation right now.”

“I miss you, Liam,” Zayn whinged.  “I’m not here to talk about the past.  I want to talk about the future.”

Zayn’s words made Liam feel dizzy, and he sunk into a chair.  “Your memories--they really came back?” he questioned and Zayn nodded.  Liam knew it was bound to happen one day of course, but that didn’t make him any more prepared for it.  Moreover, he had figured Zayn would hate him once his memories returned.  He definitely wasn’t expecting his former lover to be sat across from him at their old kitchen table, asking Liam for another chance.  “You…you remember what I did?”

Zayn swallowed.  “Yeah, I do.  But we don’t have to talk about that yet.”

Liam peered at Zayn.  He couldn’t decide whether he was telling the truth or not.  Maybe he really did remember and wanted to forget.  Maybe he didn’t recall all the details and so Liam had a responsibility to fill him in.  Or maybe Louis or Trisha had broken down and told Zayn about their relationship, painting it in a light that highlighted the good moments and obscured the bad.

There was only one way to be sure.

“I can’t believe your memories are back,” Liam conceded.  “It seems so…surreal.”  He lay a hand on Zayn’s and did his best to ignore the thrill that ran through his body at the simple touch.  “Hey babe, remember the time when we went up to Brighton--just you and me?  Remember that awful bed and breakfast we stayed at and how the guy’s missus kept leering at you?  I was so jealous, God.”

“Yes, of course,” Zayn laughed, his eyes glistening.  “I mean, how could I forget Brighton?  I thought you were being ridiculous.  I didn’t have eyes for anyone but you, Liam.”

“Yeah,” Liam managed, a torrent of emotions bubbling up inside of him again.  He forced himself to hold it together for a little longer.  “Remember that picnic we brought onto the cliffs?  I’ll never forget what you said to me that day as we both looked out onto the sea.  Do you remember what you said?”

“Ah, not exactly,” Zayn acknowledged, rubbing his neck.  “Some of the details of the conversation get a bit foggy, but of course I remember the picnic.  Um, maybe you could jog my memory a bit?  I wouldn’t want to leave out anything important, like.  I remember everything else though.”

Liam gazed at the boy in front of him, knowing it might be the last opportunity he had to do so.  Zayn looked like a kid, so eager to please, to say the right thing.  Liam almost felt sick for tricking him-- _almost_.  “Zayn, we never went to Brighton.  I made it all up.”

Zayn paled.  He began scrambling desperately as Liam guessed he would.  “Well, like, I can’t remember which city it was, Liam.  You gotta cut me some slack.  After all--”

“Just stop,” Liam pleaded.  He was tired, and he just wanted the whole charade to be over with.  “Just stop… _please_.  None of it happened, Zayn.  Not the bed and breakfast, not the trip to fucking Brighton, not the rubbish about the innkeeper’s wife, and not the bloody picnic.  I.  Made.  It.  All. Up.”

“How could you do that to me?” Zayn rasped out, all doe-eyed and defenceless.  “How could you just lie to me like that with what I’ve gone through, with what I’m going through?”

Liam stared at his hands.  “Because you’re doing the same thing to me.  You lied when you said you had your memories back, Zayn.”

“That’s different,” Zayn insisted, slamming the table with his fist in frustration.  “I knew you were too pig-headed to listen to what I had to say otherwise.  Why is it so hard for you to believe that I have feelings for you, Liam?”

“You’re mixed up, Zayn,” Liam said quietly.  “It’s understandable.  You were vulnerable after the accident.  Someone told you that we were together and now you think that us hooking up again or whatever will help fit together all the missing pieces in your life.  Well, it won’t.”  Liam took a shuddering breath.  “The fact is, we weren’t together before the accident, Zayn.  You had left me, that’s why you went up to Bradford…because you left me.  It was over.  It _is_ over.  Face it and move on as I’ve done.”

“That’s not true,” Zayn argued, stubborn as ever.  “I know that’s not true.”

“Look, there are things I’ve done which are unforgivable.  You’re better off without me.  Let’s just leave it at that.”

“Alright, I may not have all my memories back but so what?” Zayn challenged, eyes blazing.  “I know I care about you, Liam.  I know there’s something there.”

Liam snorted.  “You barely even know me, Zayn.”

“Yeah, that’s why I struggled with this for so long,” Zayn conceded, smoothing out an eyebrow with his finger.  “Because it doesn’t make sense.  I get it; I shouldn’t feel this way but I do.”  He leaned forward then, speaking with a newfound earnestness.  “The thing is, despite how you’ve tried to hide yourself from me these past months, Liam, there have been times when I’ve seen the real you.  What’s more, I can tell you still have feelings for me no matter how much you deny it.  This whole thing is pear-shaped, but there’s piss all I can do about that.  Let’s make it right...while we still can.”

Liam couldn’t take it any longer.  He had to stop this.  He had to tell Zayn the truth even if it tore him in half.  “Zayn, I cheated on you, okay?”

To his surprise, the raven-haired boy didn’t even flinch.  “Louis said you didn’t actually go through with it, that he walked in on you with another bloke in the loo.  He said he thought it was me at first which I’ll admit is kind of fucked up, Liam.”

So it _was_ Louis who told Zayn everything, the bastard.  “Listen, I’m not going to argue with you about this.  Think what you want to think, but I still was with another guy no matter how Louis tried to qualify it.  You still were going to break up with me.  That’s why you were on the A1 that night, the night of the accident.  You were headed back to London to end our relationship face-to-face.”

Zayn seemed so calm while Liam was literally falling apart inside.  “That’s what Harry thought, too, but that’s not what happened, Liam.  The truth is I forgave you, Liam. _I forgave you._ ”

The force with which Zayn those last three words stunned him momentarily.  It took every ounce of his will to suppress the hope rising within him.  “You didn’t.  There’s no way you could know that, Zayn.”

“But I did forgive you.”

Liam laughed bitterly.  “I think I’d remember something like that.”

“You didn’t know, Liam.  I didn’t have the chance to tell you.”

“And I’m just supposed to believe that codswallop?  That you forgot our entire time together except for the one instance at the end where you supposedly forgave me?   _Really,_ Zayn?  It’s complete bollocks.  Give it a fucking rest.”

“It’s true, Liam.  I forgave you,” Zayn repeated before extracting a folded piece of paper secreted in the inside pocket of his jacket.

Liam’s fingers trembled as he took the paper from Zayn.  “What is this?”  His throat felt cracked and dry.

“Read it; you’ll understand.”

“Is this….”  He stopped to wet his lips.  “Is this the letter you wrote in Bradford?”

Zayn blinked.  “You knew there was a letter?”

“Yeah, you said you were writing a letter and that you were gonna bring it back with you.  I just thought it was gone forever.  I looked for it after the accident, but I couldn’t find it anywhere.”  He paused before unfolding the paper.  Suddenly, a new suspicion blossomed in his breast.  “How do I know you didn’t write this last week or whatever?”

Zayn rolled his eyes.  “Does it look like I did?  Honestly?”  Liam had to agree with him there.  “If you don’t believe me, you can ask Haz.  He’ll tell you the whole story.  Basically, a woman came into the tea shop and recognised this drawing I had done of a lotus.  It’s the same as the one on the front of the envelope.  Here.”  He rifled in his jacket behind him and dug up an envelope, folded in half.  As Zayn had claimed, there was an ornate pencil drawing of a lotus on it.  “Anyway, she came in the following day with this letter.  She told me one of her kids had found it.”

Liam was gobsmacked.  “That’s…that’s unbelievable.”

“I know,” Zayn smiled.  “It’s like fate or some weird shit like that, huh?”

Liam unfolded the letter, his heart pounding in his chest.  “Whatever this says,” he warned, “it still doesn’t change things.”

“Just read the letter, Liam.”

And so he did.

 

 

> _Liam,_
> 
> _You’re probably wondering why I’m writing this.  The truth is I have so much to tell you, and I want to get it right.  It’s so much easier for me to say it here on paper.  When I’m with you I forget everything or the words come out wrong.  That was why I didn’t say much when I left.  I didn’t want to say something stupid, something I couldn’t take back._
> 
> _I went to my family’s house to think.  I guess I knew what I wanted to do by the time I reached Bradford, but I had to be sure.  I needed to clear my head.  Just like with nearly everything else, I decide but I’m not always confident that I’ve chosen well even when the answer’s staring me straight in the face.  Even when I feel it in my heart and my gut, I doubt myself.  I do it with my artwork, and I do it with my relationships._
> 
> _I was wrong for blowing you off when you asked me to marry you.  I accept that.  But I don’t accept the blame for your doing what you did._
> 
> _But I understand._
> 
> _I also respect the fact that you came to me and told me.  You didn’t hide what you did.  You told me straight off, no matter what the consequences were._
> 
> _I spent the week trying to imagine what I would do if I had felt rejected as you must have felt.  Again, I’m not saying it was right, but I understand._
> 
> _And I forgive you._
> 
> _But more than that, Liam, I love you._
> 
> _You are the best thing that has ever happened to me, and I couldn’t imagine my life without you.  I don’t want to imagine a life without you.  You give me the courage to follow my dreams every day.  I’ll never forget how you saw that advert in the paper and pestered me for days to send in my portfolio.  I thought I wasn’t good enough but you believed in me.  I never would have landed my first job in the industry without you.  You have been my cheerleader every time I’ve been stuck, every time I’ve doubted myself._
> 
> _It does my head in that you don’t see how amazing you are.  I can’t wait for the day when you see you as I see you.  I can’t wait for the day when you love yourself as much as I love you._
> 
> _I want to go back to where we were before you proposed to me and before I gave the answer I did.  Just like I’ve forgiven you for your mistake, I ask you to forgive me for mine.  I shouldn’t have needed time to think about something I’ve always known.  You are the only thing I’ve ever been sure of, Liam._
> 
> _And one mistake doesn’t erase a thousand memories._
> 
> _Love, Z._

 

Liam’s fingertips tingled as he gripped tight to Zayn’s letter.  “I can’t believe you found this,” he whispered.  “Or that it found you or whatever.  I…I don’t know what to say except, well….”

“It sort of changes everything, doesn’t it?”

“Well, not everything,” Liam mused sadly, setting the letter down in front of him.  Reality hit him like a freight train.  “It doesn’t change what I did.”

Zayn took Liam’s hand in his.  His other hand cupped Liam’s chin.  “Look at me.  I forgive you, Liam, and you need to forgive yourself now.  One mistake doesn’t erase a thousand memories.”

“You can’t quote yourself; that’s not bloody fair,” Liam laughed, choking back a sob.  “Besides, you made one bloody mistake driving home and three years of your life was gone.”

“Those memories will return in time.  I’m not as bothered by that as I was before,” Zayn confessed.  “I just don’t want to lose any more time, Liam.”

Zayn’s mobile rang then.  He looked at Liam apologetically as he answered it.  “Hey, Haz.  Yeah, I’m good.  Hey, is that Louis I hear in the background?”  He winked and Liam returned a knowing smile. “When am I coming home?” he echoed, gazing into Liam’s eyes with an intensity that took his breath away.  “I’m already home, Haz.  Talk to you later.  Cheers.”

Zayn ended the call and scanned the boxes strewn about the flat.  He rubbed his hands together vigorously.  “Well, where should we start?”

Liam rose and walked the few feet to the white box containing all the physical symbols of their life together.  “Here,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat.  “You should start here, babe.”

 

*****

 

They say that things are easier the second time around:  relearning how to ride a bike, brushing up on a seldom-used second language, childbirth….

Liam wasn’t sure about any of this, but he was certain that falling in love with Zayn again was the simplest thing ever.  Even more surprising was that Zayn, it seemed, felt the same way.

And then there was the sex.  It had always been good (bloody fantastic), but now it was mind-blowing.  It was like everything was new for Zayn, and Liam was addicted to watching him mewl and writhe whenever he did something he knew Zayn loved.  When it was the other way around and Zayn was pleasuring his boyfriend, he wouldn’t allow Liam to tell him his preferences or kinks.  He wanted to discover them on his own, to try each and every flavour until he found the one he fancied best (or to be precise, the one Liam fancied best).

But it went beyond that.  Zayn was even more adventurous now.  He was more willing to try new things, new positions, and so on.  His change in attitude brought a boldness to Liam he never knew he possessed.  They had only one rule--not to talk about the past while they were making love.  Liam, for his part, adhered to that rule as if it were a sacred vow.  Zayn broke it only once himself.

The infraction occurred after Zayn had begged Liam to let him ride him one night.  Liam was surprised but could hardly refuse.  He couldn’t refuse this boy anything.  As Zayn lowered himself onto Liam’s stiff length, he stuttered out, “have I…have _we_ ever d-done this before?”  Liam could see Zayn’s eyes watering, and he almost told him to stop no matter how fucking good it felt.  He settled with shaking his head, not trusting himself to speak.  Zayn nodded, murmuring, “yeah, I thought so,” before dropping down the rest of the way.

Zayn bit his lip and threw his head back as his body adjusted to the unfamiliar pain.  Liam stared up at him in awe, trying not to be so turned on by the wrecked boy before him.  Slowly Zayn opened his eyes, smirking a little at the way his boyfriend was admiring him.  Zayn rolled his hips then, and Liam knew he wasn’t going to last long--not with the way Zayn looked on top of him, that was for sure.  Liam bucked his hips to meet Zayn’s desperate movements, and soon he was spilling into his condom.  Not yet down from his high, Liam grabbed Zayn’s leaking erection.  A few jerks and Zayn was collapsed on top of him, spent and breathing heavily.

“Fuck,” Zayn cursed, still panting.  “You’ve been holding out on me, babe.  To think I’ve been missing out on this all this time….”

And as Zayn leaned in for a kiss, Liam couldn’t agree more.

 


	9. Epilogue: Zayn

 

**_One year later._ **

 

Zayn scans his final designs for the six issue run he’s sending off to Dark Horse Comics.  Even by his standard, it’s high-quality work.  He is definitely proud of this one.  

It was a completely different story only a year ago.  Back then, the mantle of “comic book artist” had seemed almost too much to bear.  Now, he embraces the title with vigour.  Nonetheless, it’s been a long road to get to where he is now, both physically and mentally.  He knows it would have been an impossible journey if it weren’t for Liam supporting and encouraging him every step of the way.

He is lucky to be able to fulfil a similar role for Liam now.  When Louis suggested Liam apply for an open position at Arsenal Academy, Zayn convinced him to go for it.  Liam got the job despite his arguments about not holding the proper qualifications--and as Harry joked, despite a recommendation from Louis Tomlinson.  Zayn loves watching the joy on Liam’s face before he leaves for work or when he’s talking about his certificate programme.  It’s clear Liam has found what he’s passionate about.  Zayn knows the feeling.

He’s about to take a sip of his coffee when he changes his mind.  He is finished with his work and doesn’t really need any more caffeine at this point.  He sets the mug down on his desk, and his eyes fall on the framed picture of Liam and Louis with their Under 14s beside it.  The duo has a post-match victory glow, and Zayn swears he could stare at Liam’s infectious, crinkly-eyed smile for hours.  The same photograph hangs on the wall of Harry’s tea shop.  It fills the gap left by the lotus drawing Zayn gave to Claire.  Zayn’s never seen her again, but he will always remember her as the woman who brought him back his life, the life he never knew he had but would’ve missed even so.

Zayn also misses Niall who somehow secured a gig opening for an up-and-coming Irish rock band on their world tour.  He had gone in to apply for a roadie position and ended up as the band’s opening act.  It would have seemed unbelievable if it were anyone besides Niall.

Niall sends postcards from every place he visits.  Harry dutifully tacks them up all along one wall of the shop, just below the curtains with the gingham print his aunt had made for the shop when she first opened it.  Louis says the curtains should be burned, but Zayn knows he’s wasting his breath.  Harry wouldn’t replace them for the world.  His whole shop is a dedication to those he loves.  Deep down, Zayn thinks Louis knows it, too.  Of course, that doesn’t mean Louis wastes an opportunity to slag off the curtains.  Harry just smiles, takes it all in as he does with everything.  He balances them all out.  He’s always been good at that.

Zayn snickers as he thinks back to the bet Niall and Harry had as to who would propose first.  Niall had laid odds on Liam, and Harry had put his money on Zayn.  Although Harry was lowkey about the whole thing, Niall seemed to want to force the issue.  Niall was pressing Liam to propose every chance he got, and he was anything but discreet.  When Niall nudged Liam in the ribs while in the queue at Tesco, Zayn was sure Liam had hit his breaking point.  If Zayn hadn’t intervened, he was dead certain Liam would have shoved Niall into the display of Mr. Kipling Pies directly behind them.  To be honest, Niall probably wouldn’t have minded much.  Being pushed into a pile of pies sounded like something that would rate near the top of the Irishman’s bucket list.  

In any case, both Harry and Niall were wrong because neither Liam nor Zayn proposed first.

No, Louis did.

It was ironic, considering the dolt took four bloody years to even ask Harry on a date.  Zayn would never forget the way the proposal went down though.  None of them would.

The five of them were lounging around the tea shop when Louis asked Harry to make him a cup of tea from a special tin on the shelf.  Harry said he was busy and asked Zayn if he would help Louis with it.  Louis threw a proper fit, insisting that Harry make the tea, and Harry subsequently told his boyfriend where he could go.  Louis then promised he would absolutely never speak to Harry again if he didn’t make the tea.  Harry aggressively snapped off the lid, strewing the entire contents of the premium loose-leaf blend along the countertop.  Something else clanged out of the tin at the same time, and five sets of eyes followed it as the thing clattered to the floor and rolled in the direction of the door.  Realising what it was, Harry ran after the fleeing object.

“Well, that certainly went as planned,” Louis remarked sarcastically.  Niall guffawed loudly, and Liam kept coughing into his hand in an attempt to cover a similar reaction.  Zayn, though, was fixated on the way Harry was grinning from ear-to-ear as he dashed back with the ring.  He had never seen Harry this happy.  Never.

Louis then got down on one knee and took Harry’s hand.  “How ‘bout it, Harold?  Arse-over-elbow proposal aside, fancy spending the rest of your life with yours truly?”  

Harry accepted immediately, and Zayn recalled how a wave of melancholy washed over him as he watched the scene unfold.  He was elated for his best mate but also filled with regret over not accepting Liam’s proposal back in May, back before the car accident.  Despite Niall’s best efforts to get Liam to propose again, Zayn wouldn’t blame Liam if he never made another attempt.  He really wouldn’t.

So he resolved to take matters into his own hands.

It wasn’t too challenging to get Louis to divulge where Liam had bought the engagement ring.  Zayn even asked Louis to join him on an expedition to the jewellery shop under the guise of wanting to know what the original ring Liam had selected looked like.  Louis was more than happy to guide Zayn to the exact ring, even adding that Liam had gotten their initials engraved inside the wicked two-tone design.  It was almost too easy really.

The following day, Zayn returned to the shop and purchased the ring.  Then, he waited for the right moment.  

When Liam suggested they take a stroll through Regent’s Park to see the cherry blossoms, Zayn recognised the promising potential of the outing at once.  He jumped at the idea, bringing along a sketchbook while Liam packed a few sandwiches.  Zayn also brought the ring.

But despite the beauty of the scenery, the small box burned in his pocket all that afternoon.  He felt it keenly as they meandered through a yellow blanket of daffodils and relaxed under the shade of a Japanese Cherry.  

“I can’t imagine anything more perfect than this,” Liam had uttered, staring up at the clouds as they drifted by.  He clasped Zayn’s hand tighter, and that was when Zayn knew.  It was now or never.  This was the exact moment he’d been waiting for.

And so he seized it.

As soon as he took out the box, Liam’s eyes widened.  When Zayn popped it open with shaking hands, Liam’s jaw dropped.  The polished metal flashed brilliantly in the sunlight as Zayn spoke the practised lines about Liam being the one for him, always and forever.     

And then Liam did the last thing Zayn expected:  he started laughing uncontrollably.  He laughed until he cried, and it took Zayn by surprise.  He wondered how he could have bodged this job when everything had been going perfectly, just as Liam said.  

But when Liam removed a ring from his pocket, a nearly identical match to the one Zayn had just presented him, Zayn understood.  Liam had planned to propose that afternoon as well, but Zayn had beaten him to it.  They shared a long kiss as a breeze swept through, scattering delicate pink blossoms all around them.  It was a lovely spring day, but the kiss left Zayn shivering inside, especially when Liam stopped to whisper in his ear:

“Can’t wait to get you home, babe.”

Again, Zayn knew the feeling.

Zayn powers down his laptop and stretches his cramped legs.  He chuckles to himself, remembering how Liam had tried to trick him into thinking this room had been his bedroom instead of his office after the accident.  It had almost worked, too.  Yawning, he saunters into his real bedroom now.  

Liam is fast asleep, breathing peacefully, duvet crumpled at his feet.  Zayn covers his fiancé up and shuts off the bedside lamp.  He contemplates crawling into bed with Liam, but he’s still pumped from finishing that huge assignment, and there is no way he could sleep now.  He’d only end up waking Liam up.

…Not that Liam would mind of course. 

He shakes the distracting thought from his mind and heads to the bookcase.  He’s left the light on in the hall, but Zayn could see well enough to get what he came in here for even without it.  He slides a book under his arm and retreats from the bedroom.

Zayn plops down on the couch and sets the scrapbook with the sick M. C. Escher cover art before him.  The scrapbook was a Christmas gift from Liam soon after they got back together.  Almost a year later, it is one of Zayn’s most prized possessions.  

It was Liam’s idea from the start to make it a memory book, a place where Zayn could document reclaimed memories from those three missing years.  After Zayn opened the gift on Christmas morning and Liam had explained his idea, Harry locked himself in Louis’ bathroom.  He came out twenty minutes later, puffy-eyed and sniffling about how the book was the most beautiful gift he could ever imagine.

And then he locked himself in the loo again.

Zayn chuckles again and opens the memory book.  Almost immediately, he is hit with the same feeling he gets every time he does so:  he is blessed, simple as that.  He’s so fortunate to have a book filled with memories of those three years he thought he lost:  of his first date with Liam, of graduating college, of his career dreams being fulfilled, of times spent with his closest mates and his family.

Some of them are real memories, too.  But most aren’t.  

The _vast_ majority aren’t real or, at best, rely on other people’s recollections.  The thing is, Zayn hasn’t really gotten those three years back.  He probably never will, and he’s okay with that.  

Still, Zayn treasures his scrapbook, and his favourite pages are the memories he and Liam created together.

Again, they’re not really genuine remembrances on his part but Zayn doesn’t mind.  Liam doesn’t either.

Sometimes it starts with a glimmer of something real, sometimes with a daydream, sometimes with a wisp of whimsy.  However it starts, Liam helps Zayn develop it until, together, they have constructed a beautiful, fully-fleshed-out “memory.”  They add it to the scrapbook when it’s ready, giving it wings with words and illustrations.

Just as Harry has his tea shop full of souvenirs from the people he loves, Zayn has his scrapbook.

Zayn feels lucky to be able to carry his memories around with him, to show others, to laugh or smile at them when he’s down.  However, he is even luckier to have Liam, and he’ll never forget that.  He knows they’ll be creating memories for years to come.  Most of those will, of course, be the garden-variety of memories, the ones every couple shares.  But some of them will be more than that.  They’ll be like the best pages in his memory book.

And he can hardly wait.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I appreciate kudos/comments. :) xx Also, feel free to hit me up on tumblr: [zqua1d](http://zqua1d.tumblr.com/)


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